


Interface

by theragingstorm



Series: New Earth-1 [6]
Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Birds of Prey (Comic), DCU
Genre: Abandonment, Ableism, Biphobia, Bisexual Female Character, Closure, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Homophobia, Jim Gordon is a Good Dad, Loving Marriage, Mommy Issues, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi, Past Barbara Gordon/Dinah Lance, Past Barbara Gordon/Jason Bard, Past Barbara Gordon/Katarina Armstrong, Past Jim Gordon/Barbara Kean, Pregnancy, Sexual Harassment, Sibling Relationship, brief discussions of abortion, mentions of sex between two minors, the batfamily are trying their best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2019-11-18 01:47:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 71,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18110759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theragingstorm/pseuds/theragingstorm
Summary: Barbara has an encounter with someone she thought was long gone — and is forced to not only consider that someone’s effect on her past, but on her future as well.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another idea I’ve been sitting on for a long time...and a lot more filling in the blanks lies ahead. There’s a lot of tough stuff that gets covered, and it’s going to get rough in places, but I hope that it still satisfies in the end.

**Interface (n):**  a point where two systems, subjects, organizations, etc. meet and interact, or a device/program enabling a user to communicate with a computer.

 

 

 

 

 

Winter had just set in over Gotham City when all of Barbara’s life was thrown into disarray. 

November had just come to a close, December opening with a flurry of white. The first snowfall of the year had just dusted over the growing skyline, the modernizing buildings. The Thanksgiving leftovers were nearly all eaten. Damian’s seventeenth birthday had come and gone. The older kids — adults now, all of them — had happily returned to their respective homes and partners. Barbara had settled back into her own life, her own rhythm, ready to wait out the next couple weeks, patiently awaiting, but ready for, the next change coming.

The Clock Tower brimmed with warmth the morning of December 1st, frost and steam painting the kitchen windows from both sides. She could look down and watch the bare sidewalk trees bend and sway slightly under the bitter wind; struggling to make it against the cold that came quickly and stayed long in Gotham. But she could also look back at the interior of her kitchen and at her family: the two little boys eating their breakfast, and the man standing over them, coffee mug in hand, BHPD police badge dangling around his neck.

“Troy, careful with the milk,” he cautioned, pouring it for their younger son, whose silky red hair and little round face were barely visible above the table. Troy was fair-skinned, dotted with so many cinnamon-colored freckles that he looked like the inverse of a clear night sky. His brown eyes were soft with thought. “And John, you don’t need to eat so quickly, we’ve got plenty of time.”

Their older son was brown-skinned, his freckles darker than his brother’s, with thick, soft black hair and glittering gray-blue eyes, like the Atlantic on a sunny day. He kept fidgeting in his seat, bouncing happily in place while Troy was still. Both of them were wearing denim overalls and t-shirts, both of them were small for their age, had been ever since they were babies, and both of them kept glancing up expectantly at their father.

Dick, in his jeans, leather jacket, and button-up, was considerably more worn than he’d been when she’d gotten to know him when they were teenagers. He was only thirty-one, but when his expressions became more pronounced, which was often, she could see the beginnings of lines on his face. He was all but covered in scars, bruised more frequently, the callouses on his hands were thicker, and his old wounds ached more often.

“But Dad, when _are_ we going?” John asked excitedly while Troy nodded. Despite all his years of crime-fighting, when Dick looked down and smiled at his sons, his blue eyes sparkled, crinkling up the same way they’d always done. And despite all her years, seeing him smile made her feel a little brighter too.

“Fifteen more minutes,” he promised, kissing his oldest’s head. Troy shifted slightly in place, and Dick gave him a kiss too. “You two excited to see where I work?”

They started cheering and clamoring in unison.

“You had better _just_ be talking about the precinct, and not the rooftops of Gotham and Blüdhaven,” Barbara teased lightly, rolling her wheelchair over to them one-handedly. Wielding the decaf coffee pot in her other, she refilled her cup. “Don’t even think about it, Grayson. I’m onto you.”

Dick rolled his eyes melodramatically and pretended to clutch his chest, then bent down to kiss her too while she laughed.

“Mama?” Troy finally spoke up. “You coming too?”

“No, sorry, Mama’s gotta stay here and work,” she said gently, running her hand over his head. “Besides, I don’t think your sister’s up for a trip all the way to Blüdhaven.”

John finished his cereal and jumped down, clambering up into her lap and curling around her swollen belly like a kitten.

“I think she could do it,” he said optimistically.

“Yeah, you think.” She poked the tip of his nose, making him giggle. “I’ve had her in me for thirty-eight weeks now, and when I was thirty-seven along with _you_ , you insisted on coming out that very night. We’re lucky your sister’s not that impatient.”

“Whah’s gonna be like?” Troy asked. “Havin’ sister?”

Barbara faltered. Thankfully, Dick had an answer all ready.

“It’s gonna be awesome, I promise,” he said, picking up the toddler. “Your aunt Cass is my sister, and look at what she’s like. Besides, your sister’s going to be special: she’ll be the first Grayson girl born in seven generations! That’s over a hundred years, since before we even came to America.”

The boys gasped in awe, and Barbara held her older son a little closer. He pressed his forehead against where his sister was growing.

“Our families just don’t have a lot of daughters,” Barbara mused. “Neither do the people in our community. Even the daughters we do have don’t tend to have heroes for moms. She and I are kind of an anomaly.”

“That’s nothing strange. You just broke the mold.”

She rolled her eyes at that, making the kids giggle again.

“There wasn’t a mold in the first place, Boy Genius. Pay attention, honestly.”

“Aw, come on.” He bent towards her, cocking an eyebrow. “I’m being nice to you. Aren’t you gonna be nice to me?”

She looked off to the side, hiding a smile.

“Come on.” He took her by the chin. “You love me.”

They made eye contact for a few seconds.

“Okay. Fine. I love you.”

“Wow, that didn’t sound coerced at all — _mmf_!”

For she’d just grabbed him by the back of the head and pulled him into a kiss. He sighed softly, melting into the kiss, making their children groan in disgust.

When they pulled away, he grinned crookedly, eyes still sparkling.

“Okay, _that_ was nice.”

“Yeah, I can be nice,” she teased, letting go. “In all seriousness, you three should probably get ready to go. Take Your Child To Work Day only happens once a year; you don’t want to miss it.”

“And now that I’m a detective, this year we’ll be going to the upper floors, where the good donuts are.” He plucked John up off her lap, balancing each of them on either of his hips. “Alright, you two, she’s right. Time to say goodbye.”

John squirmed, struggling to give her a proper hug, while Troy quietly bowed his head for her to kiss. They headed to the door, waking up the dog, who trotted over to see them off, and the cat, who just lifted his head before going back to sleep. Dick helped them put on their shoes and jackets, while she watched them with her coffee in hand, her chest feeling warm.

While the toddlers waited by the door, her husband darted back to her, giving her one more kiss.

“See you this evening. Say hi to the family and the girls for me when you go on.”

“Will do. We’ll be here.”

The door clicked shut gently behind them, leaving no sound but the animals’ breathing and soft hum of the Clock Tower’s appliances. Barbara took a deep breath herself, inhaling the warm air and the scented steam of her coffee, her heart steady. All was at peace in her world.

Inside her, her daughter kicked hard.

 

* * *

 

_Twenty-Six Years Ago_

 

Her parents had been dead two weeks, and the Gordons’ house seemed immense to her as she walked through the door, a suitcase in each hand. Jim Gordon, waiting for her before the stairs, bent down to place a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s good to see you, Barbara. I hope you like it here.”

She stiffened her back, looking him square in the eyes.

“Jim...though now you’re Dad, I guess.”

He shifted a bit, then sighed, but kept his hand on her shoulder, rubbing it a bit.

“I know it’s hard, about your parents. Look. I’ve never had a daughter before, and I don’t promise to be perfect, or to replace my brother, but I’ll do my best, okay? And this’ll be your home for as long as you want it to.”

She didn’t relax, per se, but she let her shoulders drop. She kept looking at him and nodded, and he smiled at her.

Jim was shorter than her father had been, mustached where her father had been clean-shaven, and he was redheaded like she was while her father had been brown-haired. Jim’s brown eyes were framed by rectangular glasses and prematurely lined; he looked tired, worn, even though he couldn’t have been past his early thirties, but his smile took her aback in its kindness.

She’d never seen her father much anyway. He’d worked too much, drank enough that it worried even her. He’d never said it aloud to her, but she knew that he’d been disappointed that she’d been born a girl, that his wife had never produced any sons. He’d only been dead three weeks, but though the shock was still new, the grief was already beginning to fade.

“Okay,” she decided. “That...that’ll be okay.”

“Alright. Want me to help you with your bags?”

“No, I can get them upstairs myself.” She hoisted them to prove her point, and his smile actually grew.

“Huh. You’re an independent one.” Jim chuckled, straightening up again.

“Yes I am.”

She tossed back her head. She was all of eight, a skinny kid with Harry Potter glasses, freckles, and a long red ponytail, and Barbara was pleased that Jim was impressed by and respected her prowess.

While she marched to the stairs, Jim called out to the living room:

“Barb? Barb, where are you? C’mon out, come see her.”

Barbara paused at the base of the stairs, turning slightly, just in time to see the slight brunette woman emerge from the living room, an oddly still and silent toddler in her arms. The toddler — James Jr., she remembered — was redheaded too, and he only gave her a solemn, appraising look. She stared at him too, for several long seconds, before he slipped out of Barbara Sr.’s arms and walked by himself back to the living room.

Barbara shivered. Then, once the area was free of James Jr., she looked up at her namesake. Her aunt. Her new mother.

Barbara Sr. — Barb, Jim had called her — was short and slim, with slightly sunken brown eyes and very pale, unblemished skin. Her straight coffee-colored hair hung to her shoulders, and she turned her fingers over each other before her pastel pink dress. The girl’s eyes focused on the unobtrusive silver studs in the woman’s ears, the apron she had tied around her waist, that she was barefoot, that her fingernails bore chipped polish the same color as the dress.

Her mother had been almost invisible within the house. When her father was there, he’d taken up all the space, with his shining, blinding presence; so successful at his work, so great in his own father’s eyes, his already substantial voice made deafening by the drink. Even when he wasn’t there, she doubted she’d ever heard Thelma Gordon speak more than five words at a time. Roger Gordon had had to make it all up with what little time he spent with his family.

Barbara met her new mother’s eyes.

“It’s nice to meet you. You look so much like Jim,” was how she was greeted.

Barbara tilted her chin proudly.

“I don’t think so. I’m an eight-year-old kid, and he’s a man; c’mon, I don’t look like a man.”

Jim chuckled again, putting his hands on his hips. Barb frowned slightly.

“It’s polite to say ‘it’s nice to meet you, too.’”

“It’snicetomeetyoutoo,” she echoed impatiently. “So, anyway! Which one’s my room? Do you guys have any books? It’s okay if you don’t, I brought all my own. And I’m sure there’s a library here in Gotham. What time is dinner? I usually eat at six-forty-five. And J — Dad, I hear you’re up to be promoted to captain?”

Barb’s frown deepened. Jim nodded and replied,

“Your room is the first one on the left. We do have books, but not many; I’ll take you to the library tomorrow if you want. Dinner’s usually at seven-fifteen, though some nights I’ll be working late and you’ll have to eat without me. And as for me being promoted to captain...” He inclined his chin the same way as her. “...it’s certainly a possibility, though you didn’t hear that from me. Now, go get settled, and we should have time to watch a movie before we eat.”

“On regular TV, cable, or do you have a VCR?”

“We have a VCR.”

“Nice!”

Pleased with his straightforwardness, and impressed that he was already up to be a police captain, Barbara lugged her suitcases up the stairs. She had just arrived at the door to her room, reaching out her hand, when she realized that she could still hear Jim’s and Barb’s voices.

“Well, do you like her?”

“I don’t know, Jim. She’s kind of...rude. And abrupt. And it’s not normal that one of the first thing a little girl asks about a new place is if there’s a library, nor that she’s so interested in police work, of all things.”

“I admit I’m not an expert on little girls. But she’s a good kid, Barb, and a damn smart one too, normal or not. Give her a chance.”

“I’ll try, Jim. But don’t expect me to forget about the child we already have for your brother’s daughter.”

Barbara’s grip tightened on the doorknob.

“She’s _our_ daughter now. I know this is going to be rough adjusting, and I’m upset about the circumstances too, believe me, but we can’t take it out on her. Like you said, she’s a little girl.”

“Easy for you to say, while you’re always out putting your life in danger, and enabling that Batman. I don’t want to have to worry about her, Jim, _and_ you.”

“I’ll tone down the risk, Barb. In the meantime, don’t worry about me, I’m fine. And so you’ll have plenty of room to worry about the kids.”

She sighed, but didn’t argue further, and Barbara soon heard receding footsteps, presumably back to James Jr. She sucked in a breath, wrenching open the door and yanking her suitcases inside, practically ripping them open, barely taking a moment to appraise her room.

Thankfully, it was big. The boxes full of her non-essentials, that had only taken a couple hours to pack, and three days for the moving company to bring over, had already been brought in, stacked next to her bed. The walls were vivid red, the bedsheets were pink, but she didn’t mind, because there was a window overlooking the lawn, and plenty of shelves for her books, and an actual desk for the first time in her life.

She went to the window and braced her hands on the sill, staring out at the pretty suburban sprawl of Gotham Heights, skyscrapers so like and yet so unlike Chicago looming in the near distance. Why had Barb agreed to take her in, to start filing the adoption forms when Jim had proposed it, if she didn’t even want a daughter? Or had she wanted a daughter, just not a smart, loudmouthed one?

Her hands tightened on the sill. She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself down, trying to steady the discomfort still burning inside her.

Then she went to her suitcase, rifling around until she withdrew a book and a hairbrush. Clutching them both in hand, she went down the stairs and into the living room, where she saw the rest of the Gordons.

James was surrounded by toys, but looked uninterested in any of them, simply choosing to gaze out the window, almost unblinking. Jim was in the process of lighting up a cigarette, case files spread out before him on the coffee table; he looked up when Barbara walked in.

“What are you reading...” He squinted at it. “Huh. A full-length novel and everything. Aren’t you a little young for that kind of thing?”

“No, I can read it just fine.” She took her place next to him on the couch, peering curiously at his case files. There were several mug shots of hardened-looking criminals, long descriptions of their various crimes, and, unexpectedly, several blurry photographs of the Batman himself. Those especially piqued her interest. “Those look cool.”

“If by ‘cool’ you mean ‘gruesome,’” he replied, taking a drag off his cigarette. She lifted her shirt to cover her nose and mouth from the smoke, which made him chuckle and ruffle her hair, ruining her already messy ponytail. “Do me a favor, don’t become a cop when you grow up. There’s a lot of rough stuff going on out there.”

“I bet I could handle it.”

“Mmm.”

It was then that Barb walked back in, recipe book in hand.

“Jim, do you think chicken or pork for dinner — oh my God! Why do you have that horrible stuff out for the kids to see? Why would you show them that, especially on Barbara’s first day here?”

Much to Barbara’s disappointment, the pictures and files were swept up out of sight. She opened her book up to where she’d marked it, pulled the band out of her hair so that it fell loose, and turned to her mother.

“What are you reading, Barbara? It’s awfully big — there’s not anything adult in it, is there?”

“You mean like going to work and paying taxes?”

Jim hid a laugh behind a cough.

“Anyway, I was just...um, I was just wondering...” She held out her brush. “Would you do my hair? I’m not very good at it.”

Her mother started, then softened, setting down the recipe book.

“Of course I’ll do your hair.”

The brush was gentle on her head as she pored through her book, her father’s warm presence at her side as he kept working. She had always thought of her hair as thick, heavy, coarse, and, as several other kids had complained, too bright, but her mother wove it into a braid like it was fine silk. She could never do that on her own.

“If you want something to read, Barbara, I’m sure I could find my old book of fairy stories. I loved that when I was your age.”

“No, I don’t like that kind of stuff. I’d rather just pick my books out myself.”

“Well, I just don’t want you exposed to anything age-inappropriate. I worry enough, with your father’s work and all.”

“I think it’s cool. Almost as cool as what people can do with computers now. The Internet? It’s like science fiction in real life! Just imagine...” She gazed up at the ceiling. “Being able to know anything you want, everything you want, with a computer. I’d love that.”

Barb’s fingers momentarily stilled. But her daughter didn’t notice her newest bout of trepidation, because Jim asked, “What in particular would you want to know?”

“ _Everything_ , Dad. About the world, but about people, too...”

As she chattered on, her mother’s fingers moved through her hair, the air smelled like the fresh paper of her book, Hawaiian Blossom room spray, and her father’s cigarette smoke, and for the first time since the car accident, Barbara thought that maybe she’d be okay.

 

* * *

 

_Eight Months Ago_

 

She was curled up on the floor, her dress bunched around her hips, not feeling the bathroom tiles under her legs. For who knew how long, she stared at the little plastic stick, with its two little pink lines, not sure what to do.

This was ridiculous. It wasn’t like when she’d become pregnant with John, only just reconnected with Dick, not even sure if she’d be able to hold on to him, let alone get another chance to have a baby with him. Or when she’d become pregnant with Troy, when they’d agreed ahead of time, _planned_ to have two children, and had tried for months to make it happen. She was a happily married woman in her thirties who already had two beautiful sons. She had no time to work, monitor the work of her loved ones, _and_ co-raise two toddlers and an infant. Deciding what to do next should’ve been easy.

But she turned the test over her fingers again and again, thinking about the little cluster of cells growing inside her. She could get rid of it with a single doctor’s visit, she knew no one would blame her for that. Or that she could keep it, and try to have another child.

A kind of longing grew inside her, that she tried to quash, again and again, even as it kept rising up again. A _longing_ for the baby that cell cluster would eventually become. 

Her common sense seemed to almost be screaming at her before the knock on the bathroom door came.

“Babs? Hey, not to rush you, but you’ve been in there a long time, and we’re supposed to leave in half an hour. And you know Alfred’ll be pissed if we miss family dinner.”

She started, nearly fumbling the test.

“Uh, Dick, um, it’s...well, you’d better come in.”

“Oh? What is it? You getting in the shower?”

If she hadn’t been so nervous, she might’ve smiled, even exasperatedly. As it was, she made a kind of choked noise.

“Babs?” His playful tone faded to concern, and the door opened. He walked in and sat down beside her, expression full of worry. “Is something wrong?”

Wordlessly, she extended the test. His eyes flicked downwards — then grew huge.

“How...how long?”

“Just confirmed it now. But I’m only five weeks.”

March had been a time of relative peace, of an unusual plenty of spare time. Of visits from family and friends, of actual moments to relax. Whenever their children were at daycare and preschool, staying with family, or asleep, it also was a time of kissing on the couch while a movie flickered in the background, of warm touches and skin against skin in the safe darkness of her home, of making love under the duvet even while the end of winter howled against their windows. Now she wondered if maybe it would’ve been better if they’d been facing supervillain attacks.

“Another baby? Another baby, this is — Oh my God, Barbara this is wonderful, this is —” He paused. “Why do you look upset?”

“I can’t have another baby,” she blurted. “Between your work, my work, and the kids we already have, how are we going to be able to take care of another baby? Dick I’m sorry, but I can’t keep it.”

She supposed saying it out loud should’ve made her feel relieved. Instead, she just felt miserable.

At the same time, Dick’s look of excitement faded into upset and disappointment, though he was clearly trying to hide it, and then, a kind of thoughtfulness she couldn’t read. That made her feel even worse.

“Oh...okay. Okay. Don’t keep it. If that’s not what you want.”

“...What?”

He took her hands in his.

“Barbara, I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret. If you really don’t want to have another baby, then okay. We can get rid of it. I’ll support you in that. But those reasons you gave me were rational ones, not what _you_ want. And if what you want is to keep this baby —”

“It won’t work, Dick.”

“It _will_ work,” he insisted. “We can make it work. That’s why there are two of us, give or take an absurd amount of relatives and friends willing to help us.” One of his hands reached up and cupped her jaw. “You know that I’ll be here with you.”

The swell of longing within her broke like a tsunami, and she surged forward, clutching her husband, not bothering to stop herself from crying. His arms wrapped around her back.

“How have you always managed to get me like this?”

“Pregnant? Um, do you really need me to answer that?”

She gave a watery laugh.

“No, you doofus. How do you always manage to get me to do these crazy things with you?”

“I just want you to do what you want, even if you’re scared.” His voice was warm. “So...what do you want?”

She was quiet for a few moments, feeling his hand stroke up and down over her back.

“I know it’s not rational, but I...I do want to keep this baby.”

“You do? You really do?”

“Yes.” She laughed again, sniffling. “Yes, I do. It’s going to be hard, but it’ll be worth it.”

“It will! It —” He pulled back, so that they could look at each other, that she could see him beaming. Her spirits lifted, and she smiled too. “It _will_ be worth it.”

“Even though it’s not rational. And I’m scared.”

“Love is never rational. And I get that it’s scary for you. But it _is_ worth it. You know that.”

“Only because of you.”

She’d said it quietly, but he still heard it, still kissed her.

“I swear, Babs, we’ll make it work for this kid. I’ll love them just as much as their brothers.”

“I know. I know you will.”

They just sat there for a minute or so, one of his hands having migrated from her back to her still-flat stomach. She still felt afraid, and a little bit like she had lost her mind, but mostly? She felt relieved, and she felt happy.

She felt so happy. And she felt a little stir of something, the very beginning of something, begin to take root in her chest.

Then a small fist knocked on the bathroom door.

“Mama? Daddy? Troy got his pants off; he doesn’t like ‘em. What’re you doing in there?”

“Wow,” Dick remarked. “Urged into parental responsibility by our oldest child...sounds about right, doesn’t it?”

She scoffed, wiping away the last of her tears.

“Oh yeah.”

She pulled herself up into her chair while he got up, reaching for the doorknob.

“Let’s get them ready. And then let’s go see my family.”

“Sure. We do have something to tell them, after all.”

He smiled at her one last time before pushing the door open.

 

* * *

 

Her daughter kept moving inside her as she worked, fidgeting and stretching. The tapping at the keys had a pattern, a rhythm, but the baby was erratic and impatient, still for a few minutes, before going back to kicking at the inside of her diaphragm.

“Even your brothers weren’t this bad,” Barbara murmured, pressing a hand to the crown of her belly. The baby stilled at her mother’s touch. “Yeah, that’s right, your brothers. You’d better like them, I don’t want a repeat of all the nonsense that went down in your dad’s family all those years ago. Anyway. I was their house before I was yours.” She chuckled softly. “Troy was pretty quiet in there; John moved around a lot, but _he_ didn’t seem like he was trying to pummel his way out. Or do you just like kicking me?”

She stretched a bit, but didn’t kick this time.

“Hmm. There’s-a girl.”

Barbara turned back to the screen, the police cameras she’d tapped into giving her a perfect view of someone in the 57th precinct stealing classified files. A quick run into facial recognition, and then a note to the precinct’s captain; those files wouldn’t even make it out of the district.

She stretched her arms up over her head.

A preliminary check of the Watchtower’s security system revealed a small flaw, which she quickly fixed. Then she tapped into the coms of a Justice League team on a shadow op in Indonesia.

“Green Lantern, Green Arrow, Flash. How are we looking?”

“We’re almost to the base,” came Kyle’s voice in her ear. “Five klicks and closing. We’ll have to go radio silent in a minute.”

“Thanks for checking in Oracle, but don’t worry, all’s going according to plan,” Connor added.

“You all have the schematics of the base I sent you?”

“We do,” Wally confirmed. There was a smile in his voice. “No worries, techno-babe. We’ll call you if we need you, but until then...”

“I get it, speed-freak,” she said affectionately. “Good luck, Alpha Squad. Oracle out.”

She kept the channel open, in case Alpha Squad needed to check in again, and in the meantime opened a different line with Batman. It was the middle of the morning and he had meetings through most of the day, so she didn’t expect Bruce to reply immediately.

“Anything suspicious going on today?”

“Nothing so far.”

“You don’t have to sound so disappointed about that.”

Her father-in-law huffed, and she laughed.

“I’ve checked several times this morning, but no serious crimes have been reported yet. I’ll stay at Wayne Enterprises for now, you just finish your work, and make sure to get some rest.”

“Oh, B, would you relax? And that’s coming from _me_. I don’t need to rest.”

“You’re thirty-eight weeks pregnant, and you don’t need to rest,” he said, and though his voice was dry, she could hear the concern in it.

“I know you want us to be okay, even if you could still do a better job of showing it, but I’ve done this twice before, remember? Look, you just sit tight, and your granddaughter will be here, safe and sound, before you know it.”

She pictured how Bruce must look, slightly pained, wishing she were a little more reasonable, before he would inevitably shake his head with fond defeat.

“Fine. I’ll call you if I need you.”

“Love you, B.”

“...Love you too.”

He really _had_ gotten better.

After he hung up, no new messages or incoming calls came in. She rolled her chair slightly back, picking up her old, worn Batgirl plush and toying with it, carefully tucking Batgirl’s faded red hair over her shoulders, where the fabric had worn down to loose mesh.

Her cat padded over and jumped up onto her chair, trying to find some room on her lap before eventually draping himself over her knees. She stroked her other hand over his long, soft black fur, seeing the tip of his tail twitch while he purred contentedly. 

“It’s a quiet day, Odie. Maybe I should take it easy after all.”

Odie’s purrs grew louder.

 

* * *

 

_Twenty-Five Years Ago_

 

She remained absolutely trained on the television screen, curled into her father’s side as the murderer skulked across the screen.

“This better plotted than the last movie?”

“Not really.” She didn’t look up from the film, her eyes still trained on the characters. “The writing is still pretty bad. And the girl characters are all whiny and dumb and annoying. That happens in a lot of movies, actually. Hey Daddy?”

“Yeah Babs?”

“That book you got me for my birthday, the one about forensic science, it was written by someone who actually knows about this kind of stuff?”

“Now how do you know what I got you for your birthday? It’s not till tomorrow.”

She just looked at him. Jim laughed, his arm tightening around her side.

“Huh, so I’m good at finding secrets...just not at keeping them from you.”

“So you really got me a book on forensics?” she asked eagerly.

“Yes...to go with your books on computers, and Greek mythology.”

“But I don’t have —” Her eyes widened. “You got me books on computers and Greek mythology too?”

“Yeah, God knows I don’t understand that crap at all, but —”

He was drowned out by her squeal of excitement, just as the murderer slashed the throat of the handsome and deeply stupid leading man with a machete. Off-screen, of course; she was only turning nine.

She jumped up and kissed his cheek; he was scratchy and smelled like cigarettes and aftershave.

“Slow down there, Babsy, you’re going to miss the movie! And you know we can’t rewind, or I’ll be late for the night shift.”

“Thanks, Daddy,” she said, all but glowing. He couldn’t help but smile back.

It was then that her mother drifted into the room.

“Barbara, the school called. Mrs. Phelps says that you’ve been talking over her again.”

“What? No. All I did was say that there was more than one way to spell Sacagawea’s name. It’s not my fault she was wrong.”

Barb sighed.

“Honey, it’s not nice to show off how smart you are. Teachers don’t like it, your future boss won’t like it, and boys definitely don’t like it.”

Barbara wrinkled her nose.

“Ew. Who cares what _boys_ think?”

Jim snorted.

“I’ll try not to take offense at that.”

“Jim, don’t encourage her,” Barb said sharply. “I’m serious. Barbara, you don’t want people to think you have an attitude problem. And you may not care now, but boys’ opinions will be important if you want to end up with a nice one. So it’s important to be nice too.”

“I don’t want to be nice! I’d rather be right!” She raised her fist for emphasis.

“Stop that! People will think you’re rioting.”

“I’m just gonna be right, and any boy will just have to deal with it,” she decided. “I don’t wanna marry him if he’s gonna be a whiny jerk about me being smart. And I need to get my Master’s degree, at least, before I even consider getting married.”

Barb turned over to her own husband with a look of despair. Jim cleared his throat, gaining his daughter’s attention.

“Babs, do you want to know what your mom got you for your birthday?”

She lowered her fist.

“Uh, sure, I guess.”

With a look of relief, her mother vanished into the next room. She reemerged a minute later with a neatly wrapped package, the corners very carefully taped.

Barbara picked it open quickly and deftly, tossing aside the wrapping paper and pulling out...a dress. It was bottle-green and knee-length, its fabric soft in her hands.

“I like it!”

What was more, she meant it. It was pretty, and comfortable too. Her mother looked even more relieved at hearing her say so.

“I thought it would bring out your eyes.”

“That’s really nice, Mom.”

Her mother nodded in satisfaction, dark brown hair swishing around her chin.

“You can wear it on Saturday when the Nelsons come over for brunch. Who knows, Tyler might like it too.”

Barbara lowered her dress.

“You invited the Nelsons? Mom, I don’t want Tyler over here.”

“Why not? He’s a good kid.”

“No he’s not. He swiped Alice Silverstein’s action figures and pulls LaTonia Tallamillo’s hair when he sits behind her in class. And last week he pushed me off the swings so I had to kick him in the shin and make him limp for three days, so he doesn’t like me anyway.”

“You did what?” Her mother’s relief went up like water on a grease fire. “What were you thinking?”

“He’s mean to the other girls all the time! I shoulda kicked him in more than just the shin, that’d get him to leave them alone.”

“Babs, you can’t solve your problems by beating people up,” her father interjected.

“Why not? Batman does it. And you work with him.”

Her mother turned on her father.

“This is exactly why I don’t like you working with Batman! You’re giving your daughter entirely the wrong idea!”

“Jeez Mom, no, I was only proving my point,” she protested. “I would’ve done it even without knowing about Batman. Batman has nothing to do with my kicking Tyler. He was being a jerk, and I had to get him to stop. Because I _could_ get him to stop. What’s wrong with that?”

“Because you can’t kick people! And you can’t show off, you can’t be rude to your teachers — why is it so hard for you to behave properly?”

“Because that’s not behaving, that’s just acting like you,” she snapped.

Immediately she knew that she’d crossed a line. But she refused to take it back, just glared up at her mother defiantly.

“I’m canceling your birthday party tomorrow. Are you sorry for misbehaving now?”

“Barbara Eileen!”

Her parents stared daggers at each other for just long enough before her mother turned back to her, looking for an answer.

“No. I’m not sorry.”

She wasn’t, even after she had to call all her classmates and tell them. Kicking Tyler Nelson in the ankle was more than worth her birthday party. The very next day, Alice’s figurines mysteriously turned up in her cubby, and nobody ever pulled LaTonia’s hair again.

The other boys in her class seemed far more in awe than afraid of her anyway.

 

* * *

 

  _Nine Months Ago_

 

Dick was unusually quiet as she lay against him, her head on his shoulder, one of his hands toying with a lock of her hair. Freezing rain lashed the windows of the Clock Tower, but their sons were safely in bed, and even through the gloom she could see the glow of the Bat-Signal. It was nearly one in the morning, and though they were both in their pajamas, turning in for a well-deserved early night, she didn’t feel remotely sleepy.

“What are you thinking about?”

He stirred a bit.

“Bruce. I just hope he’s safe out there. It’s a lousy night to be crime-fighting.”

“My dad too,” she agreed. “I hope he has an umbrella up on the precinct roof or something.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it. Your dad, unlike my dad, is a sensible man.”

“Oh, like you can talk about being sensible,” she teased. She gently poked him in the ribs. “You’re a bit like your dad, you know.”

Dick chucked self-deprecatingly, before he went quiet for a moment.

“Yeah. But that worries me. I love Bruce, and I’m proud of how far he’s come, but...I dunno. He was so afraid of replacing my father when I was a kid that when we weren’t fighting crime, he kind of distanced himself. But when we were fighting crime, he still expected me to totally obey him. I love him, but...well, you know I don’t want to be him.”

She sighed, pulling him a little close.

“Dick, if you’re afraid of alienating your children, you won’t. You’re so engaged with them, you do so much for and with them, and they love you so much.”

“I know. But...I still worry that I’m not doing enough.”

She propped herself up, taking his head and turning it gently so that he looked her in the eye.

“Okay. Before I tell you this, know that she gave me permission to tell other people.”

He blinked slowly, his face still open as he looked at her.

“Dinah...of course you know her mom, the first Dinah Lance, was also the first Black Canary. Dinah’s situation was a bit like yours, having a superhero for a parent, and also like mine, having one of the only good cops in Gotham for a dad. Dinah Sr. was pretty distant too, always busy with the JSA, and Dinah tells me that it could be, well, really lonely.” Barbara thought too of the similarities between Larry Lance and Jim Gordon: good-hearted, loyal, altruistic, hardworking...maybe too much so. It had worn on them and their relationships alike. “Though Dinah Sr. didn’t like her daughter doing anything risky; she tried to stop Dinah from going into the life. So Dinah loved her mom, I promise you she loved her mom, but when she was younger she swore she would never be like her.”

Dick tilted his head slightly.

“What’s your point?”

“She honors her mom by wearing her costume and bearing her name, but otherwise, Dinah’s nothing like her. She’s not distant, she’s not stifling, she doesn’t try to control the people in her life. So my point is...we’re not our parents, sweetheart. I know you love and honor Bruce too, despite his all his faults, and I love him and my father too, but I also know you’re not him. I’m not my...” Her voice cracked slightly. “We’re not our parents.”

Dick’s expression softened.

“Thank you, Barbara. But you...what happened with your mom still hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe. But she’s gone, Dick. She’s never coming back.”

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Are you afraid of hurting our boys?”

“So, so afraid.”

“You’re not going to.”

She exhaled softly. “I can even believe you, now. Because after all these years, I have your family, Sarah and my dad, my friends, them, you. I love those boys so, so much.” She stroked her thumb along the plane of his jaw. “And I love _you_ so much. I just don’t want to lose any of you again.”

He kept looking at her, his face full of affection.

“Never, Barbara. I’ll never willingly leave you again. I love you too. God, I...every day, I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

“You sure I’m not the lucky one?”

She found herself kissing him, deep and long. For a couple minutes, all they did was keep kissing, their hands cupping the sides of each others’ faces, then she pulled him closer, so that she was all but enveloped in his warmth. He wrapped an arm around her back; the kissing grew deeper, she leaned into it, closing her eyes. Heat spooled into her belly like honey as they lay like intersecting lines, arms wrapped around each other. She dimly wondered if her face and chest were as red as they felt.

“I love you.”

His hand had drifted far enough down that she couldn’t feel it anymore, but she heard the covers rustle as he cupped and stroked along her thigh, pulling it around his waist. She pulled a hand away just long enough to open the buttons on her pajama top, then cupped his face again, pulling him in for another kiss, overwhelmed with affection.

“I love you too,” she replied, slipping out of her pajamas. Then, smiling a bit, she slowly pulled the covers up over the two of them.

The rain kept pattering against the windows, keeping in time with their rhythm. Outside, the Bat-Signal switched off, plunging the city into darkness.

 

* * *

 

Her phone chimed, and sure enough, the text was from the woman she was expecting:

 _I’ll be happy to have brunch with you! I can be over in twenty minutes. Looking_ _forward_ _to_ _seeing_ _you — x_

Barbara nodded to herself, then quickly checked her systems one last time to see if anything had come up. Odie remained stubbornly draped over her lap as she struggled to put her boots on, slipping on her jacket and gathering up her things.

Then she checked her other messages. Dinah had sent her a collection of snapshots she’d taken of around Star City, including one of Mia and Emiko in their uniforms power-napping on a park bench, and _Thinking of you — even if some of us are dreaming._ Helena had sent her links to several articles she knew she’d find interesting. Zinda had sent her a panorama of the sky above the Gulf of Mexico, and a cute selfie with several beaming Air Force veterans who were apparently Blackhawks fans.

In the news, Question had uncovered a longterm smuggling operation out of the Gotham port, Wonder Woman had issued a statement addressing lack of federal protection for trans people — Diana did not forget to mention that all the Amazons on Themyscira were accepted as women, but not all of her countrywomen had vaginas — and several members of the Justice League, including a couple of Barbara’s own teammates, had busted a continents-wide human trafficking operation. Kendra and Karen had been quoted as saying “We’re just doing our jobs, Iris” and “And we’re very happy to do them.”

Smiling, Barbara dropped her phone back into her purse. She stretched her arms up, feeling the satisfying release in her muscles before she went back to petting her cat with one hand, resting the other against her abdomen. Odie’s purrs vibrated against her skin, and the baby inside her seemed to curl up contentedly.

Outside, against the gray sky, several sparse whirls of snowflakes began to fall.

It was then that the outside doorbell, the one at the very base of the Clock Tower, rang. Ari leapt up, barking excitedly, and Odie jumped off her lap, both of them heading to the entryway.

At the same time, caught up in all her happiness, Barbara made the exact same mistake she had made ten years ago. She hit the button that unlocked the door, _without_ checking to see whether the person at the door was the right person.

She was still caught up as, a couple minutes later, the footsteps began to echo outside her living space’s entryway. She set her shoulders back, brushing her hair away. Then she rolled right to the door and pulled it open —

— and her heart seemed to lurch to a halt.

For in her doorway was the exact wrong woman. The woman that she hadn’t seen in twenty-one years. The woman who now had more wrinkles and more lines of gray in her brown hair, who stared at her with something like astonishment, as though _she_ were the anomaly.

“Barbara...?”

Barbara nearly choked, trying to swallow around the sudden blockage in her throat.

“...Mom?”

 

* * *

 

_Twenty-Three Years Ago_

  

She leapt off the school bus after gymnastics practice that evening with nothing short of euphoria, the acceptance letter clutched tight in her hand.

“Mom! Dad! I did it! I did it!”

James Jr., who was standing in the foyer with a bottle of Drano in hand, pushed his big glasses up his nose and frowned slightly.

“What did you do?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral as always. It sounded odd, almost creepy, on a five-year-old.

“Well, I — what did I do, what are _you_ doing with that thing? You’re not going to poison anything — not going to kill any more birds, are you?”

“It was already dead, I was just dissecting it,” he replied, unflappable as always. “Just because my hands were all covered in its blood doesn’t mean I killed it. And I’m just going use this to unclog the sink drain. Just trying to help.”

“Yeah, sure. But anyway. Where are — ” She raised her voice. “Mom! Dad! C’mere! C’mere!”

Her parents rounded the corner, her father in his trench coat, his eyes looking sunken, clearly fresh from work. Her mother, drying her hands on a dish towel, looking concerned.

“James, put that thing down,” Jim sighed. “Babs, what is it?”

“And don’t shout in the house,” Barb chided. “Honestly, Barbara, you’re already eleven. You should know better.”

Right then, she was too excited to get annoyed.

“Okay, you know how last month Principal Jacinto said with my grades and with my IQ scores, I could skip middle school altogether and go to ninth grade instead of sixth grade in the fall? That I could be in college by the time I was fifteen?”

“Yes,” her parents said in unison, and Barb added, “But we agreed that you weren’t going to do that. High school is no place for a girl your age, and college is no place for a fifteen-year-old.”

Jim frowned slightly.

“But Mom, I’m so _bored_ in class,” Barbara said, not for the first time. “The stuff they teach us is so _easy_.”

“Barbara, I said no. I don’t want to have to worry about you being there surrounded by older kids and the things about them you’re not ready for; I’m not filling out that application.”

“Well, Mom...you don’t actually have to.”

Jim’s frown intensified.

“What did you do?”

“I filled out the application. I sent it to a few high schools that Principal Jacinto said were good, and I got into one!” She brandished the acceptance letter triumphantly. “Gotham Academy! They’re willing to take me as part of the freshman class in the fall, and on a full scholarship too! So you don’t have to worry about anything, even the money. I’m gonna go to high school!”

For a moment, her parents were silent. James looked between them and her with a gleam in his eyes.

“You’ll stay away from the drugs-and-sex crowd?” Jim said at last.

“Sure, Dad.”

“You won’t date any older boys?”

“Ew, no.”

“You’ll focus on your athletics and studies?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Barb looked at her husband incredulously.

“Jim, you cannot possibly be thinking of letting her go.” Her voice rose slightly. “She deliberately disobeyed me, she went behind our backs, and she won’t be safe there anyway! You can’t give her what she wants!”

“Of course I’m not happy she went behind our backs. I was getting to that.” He looked at his daughter. “Barbara, you’re grounded for two weeks. No TV, no video games, no going out with your friends.”

She nodded. She didn’t like it, but in the grand scheme of things, it was a small price to pay if he agreed...

“But give me that letter. I’ll call Gotham Academy and confirm your acceptance.”

Barbara’s spirits soared.

“Absolutely not!” her mother exclaimed. “Jim, you cannot reward her for disobeying me!”

“Rewarding her? I’m making sure she works harder! Do you really think a girl like her belongs in the sixth grade, when she’s bored stupid in all her classes right now? Face it, Barb, this school isn’t challenging her, but maybe Gotham Academy will. And it’s not like she’ll be free to get in trouble when she’s working harder.”

“It’s what she wants! Are you really going to do this, just cave into what she wants? Like you always do?”

“I’m doing what’s right for her!”

“ _I’m_ doing what’s right for her! I’m her mother. _You_ talked me into taking her in, _you_  put me in this position. And now I’m acting like her mother, and you have a problem with it?”

“ _I_ care about her, and about what happens to her. Do you think that despite all that, being her father instead of her mother makes me less qualified?”

“I think that you give in too easily when women and girls want something from you!”

Jim’s face went white. Barbara didn’t know what they were talking about, but she immediately knew that her mother had struck a nerve.

“Sarah? You’re bringing up Sarah now? That was almost six years ago.” His voice was quiet at first, but then grew to a shout again. “What I did was wrong, I admit it, but I’ve apologized to you, I’ve taken us to couples counseling, and I have done nothing like that since! I haven’t even been in contact with her since! How could you throw her in my face like that?”

“You’re giving into Barbara like you gave into that — that — that blonde _whore_.” Barb sounded like she was going to start weeping. “No matter how much it hurts me. I am your wife, I am the mother of your child — mother of your children. I work all day, take care of her and our son, you’re gone so often, and you don’t even _consider_ me —”

James Jr. had by then slunk away to a vantage point at the bottom of the stairs, still holding the bottle of harsh chemicals, the gleam in his eye increasing at his mother’s cries.

Barbara, for her part, felt like her insides were being crumpled to bits. She carefully folded up the acceptance letter, tucking it into her father’s pants pocket while her parents kept arguing. Then she withdrew, heading up the stairs to her room.

She grabbed Woobie, her well-loved teddy bear, off the nightstand and flopped down on her bed. She stared up at her pink walls, her bookshelves; the notebooks on her desk filled with jots and scribbles of ideas she’d come up with while bored in class, the cover of one scribbled with a doodle of a police badge, her dream. Her instruction manual on the Dewey Decimal System, inspired by all her trips to the library, and a new purchase, an instruction manual on beginner’s computer coding. She intended to be able to use the knowledge in both of them someday.

She thought about her mother telling her she shouldn’t spend so much of her father’s money on things like that. She’d told her mother she’d saved up her allowance. Her mother had replied that that allowance had come from her father’s money, and why did she even need something like that in the first place?

Barbara kicked her blanket off the bed.

She wanted to do big things, to be significant. She wanted to go to college early, and to grad school after that. To be a detective, to solve crimes, to search for information. So she made up her mind: she was going to go to high school in the fall whether her mother liked it or not.

She looked out the window, swearing that she could almost see the Batman leaping across the city skyline.

There was a knock on her door. When her father came in, she could immediately tell from his expression that she was going to go to high school in the fall, and she felt hopeful, relieved again.

But she could also tell that whether her mother liked it was still _not_.

 

* * *

 

_Two Years Ago_

 

The baby in Stephanie’s arms twitched his fingers, sticking one hand in his mouth and gazing up at his aunt almost thoughtfully. Steph ran her hand over his red hair, not taking her eyes off of him. Beside her, Cass placed a hand on her fiancée’s shoulder, John curled up asleep in her lap.

“I can’t get over any of you guys’ kids,” Steph admitted. “It was enough when you and Dick had just _one_ of these, but now that you’ve got this one too...”

Barbara looked from her screens over her shoulder. The two young women, curled into each other on the couch, and her sons in their arms.

She tapped a few more keys, but didn’t stop looking at them.

“You can stay with them as long as you want. I kinda need the breathing room anyway.”

“Thought as much.” Cass stroked over John’s head and back; he snuffled and pulled himself tighter to her. “You know we like babies.”

She went back to her work for a few minutes, at least until Steph sighed a bit. She turned around again; though Cass was now fumbling around for the TV remote, Steph was still fixated on Troy.

“Do you want one of those, Stephanie?”

Cass froze. Steph’s head snapped up.

“What? Who said that I —?”

Barbara raised an eyebrow at her.

“Alright, fine.” Steph tilted her head back. “I’ve wanted one of these for...well, for years. Cass, sorry to spring this on you out of the blue like this —”

“I knew,” Cass said simply. “Read body language...remember?”

“Oh yeah.”

The two young women made eye contact for a long time. Barbara kept quiet, letting them have a silent conversation.

“Still miss your daughter,” Cass said at last.

Steph didn’t grimace or crumple in pain like she might’ve years ago, but she did nod.

“Always will, you know.” Troy snuffled, patting against the fabric of her t-shirt. “It just...doesn’t hurt as much. I just have to remind myself...that she’s better off with people who spent all that money and went through all that red tape because they knew they wanted her. Like — God help me for saying this — Bruce. Or Babs, your dad.”

“You’re right,” Barbara said evenly. “My dad did want me. I never doubted that. I mean sure, maybe initially he was doing a good deed for family, but he still went through all that adoption paperwork as soon as his brother died just for me. Just to give me a home. And that’s what matters, whether the parent _wants_ the child or not. If your daughter’s with people who wanted her as much as my dad wanted me, you never have to worry about her.”

Steph didn’t hesitate to smile, brushing a long strand of blonde hair out of her face. Cass visibly relaxed as her fiancée’s body language changed.

“So, how are you planning on getting a baby?” Barbara paused. “Please don’t steal one of mine.”

“Tempting,” Steph laughed, “but seriously, I’m still pretty young. Someday, though.”

“You want one...after we get married,” Cass guessed. Steph looked at her.

“You’d think I’d be used to you doing that by now, but no.”

Cass wrapped her free arm around her shoulder, and Steph finally relaxed all the way, leaning into her, the two of them curled against each other while they watched the TV. John stayed asleep, and Troy quickly began to still as well, his eyes flickering closed. The girls both put their feet up on the coffee table, despite having been told many times not to do that.

“Could you two not get scuff marks on my furniture?”

“Bite me, Barbara.”

She rolled her eyes, still feeling fond of them all.

 

* * *

 

“Mom,” she said again, still disbelieving.

Barbara Sr. had aged, but was still definitely recognizable. Her shoulder-length hair was heavily shot through with gray, but the color that was left still had the hue of coffee grounds. Her lined eyes were still liquid dark, still sunken. Her nail polish was the color of peach fuzz, and her makeup was unobtrusive to the point of unremarkable. Her coat and dress were black, so she looked like a mourner, but she still twisted her hands in front of her in the same nervous, almost repressed, way she did when she wanted to say something.

“Oh, Barbara,” her mother said softly. “Look at you. All that’s happened...”

Her hands flew up and gripped her armrests. Part of her absently acknowledged how she looked right then, staring up incredulously from a wheelchair, which her mother had never seen her in. Her wire-rimmed glasses had slipped down her freckled nose, her long loose red hair was tied up in a messy knot; she was wearing silver hoop earrings, soft faded jeans, and an oversized green sweater. One of her scars poked up from beneath the neckline. Her hands were covered in callouses, one of them bearing her wedding and engagement rings; her muscles were only partially hidden by the comfortable clothes. Moreover, she was very visibly nine months pregnant.

And she was thirty-four years old, but all of a sudden, she felt like she was thirteen again.

“Mom.” The word felt foreign on her tongue. “What are you doing here?”

Barb bowed her head slightly, revealing more raincloud-gray in her roots.

“Well. I came to Gotham to visit your brother in Blackgate, and stopped by the police station to report a purse-snatching I saw on my way back to my hotel. While I waited for them to process my report, I started talking to the sergeant, because she had a picture of Bruce Wayne’s cousin on her desk — that redheaded woman who wears suits to parties, I can’t remember her name — and it turned out that this sergeant actually knows his family. Maggie, she said her name was. Lovely woman. I saw that she was married; her husband is a lucky man.”

Under different circumstances, Barbara would’ve laughed at that. Instead, she just kept staring at her mother.

“Anyway. Maggie happened to bring up that of Bruce Wayne’s adoptees, the fourth was engaged to a reporter’s oldest child, and the oldest three were married to another billionaire’s ward, to the child of a nurse, and to the daughter of her boss, the commissioner. And since the commissioner is still your father...you, Barbara.” Her mother blinked slowly. “I realized then — well, it really sunk in, I should say — that my daughter was all grown. I had missed your wedding. I’ve missed all these years...”

“Twenty-one years.”

“Yes.” Barb’s hands fidgeted a little more. “How...how many children do you have?”

“Two sons. Four-and-a-half and two-and-a-half. This one — this one will be my first daughter.”

Her mother’s expression became almost inscrutable. But there was something like worry in it.

“Well. Good luck with your daughter. May I come...?”

Barbara didn’t remember moving out of the way, but her mother came into her home anyway. Her hands came unclasped as she took in the generous living space, the open kitchen, the big windows, the children’s toys scattered over the floor. She ran a hand along the back of the couch, gazing at the full bookshelves, pausing at each piece of furniture that was topped with framed photographs.

She plucked off one of the photographs. Barbara rolled closer to see that it was the one of her and her father from about nine years ago, when she had just become Oracle and started really recovering. She was smiling for a picture for the first time in over a year, and her father looked like he was going to burst with happiness, his arm wrapped around her.

Barb winced and set it down, picking up another and another. Her and Dick’s wedding picture; her and her friends with their arms around each other; her and Dinah caught mid-laugh; Dick and Donna asleep together on the couch, Dick and Wally and Garth and Roy eating ice cream and grinning like kids; Dick and Bruce in a rare hug; a panorama (there were so many of them it had to be a panorama) from last year of everyone in both their families dressed for a gala and assembled in Wayne Manor’s living room, adults standing or on the couch, kids sitting on the floor, no fighting, no difficulties, just everyone smiling. Then, in turn, the two photographs of her sons, when they were newborn babies.

She wrapped an arm around her abdomen.

Barb set down the pictures of John and Troy, turning and looking at her.

“Your sons are beautiful. I’m sure they’re wonderful boys...what’s their father like?”

“They _are_ wonderful.” She cleared her throat. “And so is their father. He’s compassionate, brave, loyal...and his family and our friends have been really great at helping out, so it doesn’t get too overwhelming and we can both still work as much as we need.”

The older woman frowned.

“Why do you both need to work a lot? He was adopted by a billionaire, and you’re their mother —”

“Because we both care about our work,” she replied, sharper than she’d intended. “Dick’s a detective because he likes helping people, and I d — ” She almost said _I do too_ , “— I like IT.”

“You do...IT? For the library?”

“Something like that. Look, my kids don’t just need their mother, they need to have all sorts of people who love them and who they can learn from. That’s why we have our families and friends helping. So even though Dick and I work a lot, we both still have time to do what we want, and to spend time with each other.”

Her mother looked at her askance.

“How long have you two been married?”

“Four and a half years.”

“And you still make time to spend with each other? Regularly?”

“Yes. Because we _like_ each other. That’s why we got _married_.”

What she didn’t say was, _And because I learnt from my mistakes. You can’t push someone away and expect to keep them, no matter how much you love them. I was lucky enough to get a second chance. I wasn’t going to let there be a third._

Her mother shook her head.

“I still can’t believe you’d rather your in-laws watch your children then spend time with them yourself. I understand it’s hard, but they’re your children. The only reason I’m in town is to see your brother; I see him for a week every year since he went to prison. And I saw him every single day of his life until he was grown up.”

Barbara felt like someone had injected ice into her heart.

“You visit...James... _every_   _year_? Mom, he killed my friend. He poisoned infants. He killed and tortured who knows how many other people. He tried to kill me. He tried to kill _you_! How can you possibly keep seeing him?”

“Because he’s still my son.” The older woman drew her head up high. “There’s a lot I can’t forgive from anyone else, but I have to forgive my son. Wouldn’t you forgive your sons?”

“That’s — that’s not even comparable! My sons are _toddlers_ , and they’re not _murderous_ _psychopaths_! Forgiving John for pulling down the curtains or Troy for drawing on the walls is _not_ like you forgiving James for what he’s done! James is still my brother as much as he’s still your son, and I’ll _never_ forgive him. And you — you say I have a responsibility to my children, but —” The words she wanted to say threatened to choke her, so she said something else instead, “— I can’t teach them that they’re obligated to forgive someone who hurt them, especially if that someone’s not sorry for what they did.”

“You don’t have to forgive James.” Barb’s voice was suddenly frosty. “But I’m his mother, and I love him. I wasn’t going to leave him to just rot in prison alone; you don’t do that to your child. And don’t talk to me like that, Barbara, like you’re right and everyone else is wrong. You’re not a little girl anymore; you have no excuse to think like that.”

Barbara took a deep breath, again halting herself.

“You didn’t really answer my question before, Mom. Why, not how. _Why_ are you here?”

Her mother took a deep breath of her own.

 

* * *

 

_Twenty-Two Years Ago_

 

She really did love driving with her father, especially when any of the other girls on the high school gymnastics team agreed to hang out with her. They were all at least four years older than her, extremely fit and strong and pretty, and a skinny twelve-year-old could use all the intimidating female friends she could muster. She kind of wished that they’d agree to do judo with her too, but there just weren’t a lot of girls at the dojo period, let alone girls from her school.

“Now, you’ll stay with Barbara the whole time?” Jim asked as they pulled up in front of the cinema, rock hits from the ‘70s playing from the car stereo. “Make sure she’s okay?”

“ _Dad_. We’re going to the movies, not the moon.”

“She’ll be fine with us, Mr. Gordon,” said Consuelo, the oldest and prettiest member of the team, with long eyelashes and soft, shiny black hair; the way that hair swung when she walked or did a back handspring made the boys whistle and Barbara’s heart beat a little faster. The other three girls in the car, Phoebe, Alicia, and Naomi, all nodded agreeably. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m her dad, it’s my job to worry. Take care girls, and have a good time.”

The five girls disembarked, and the squad car drove off. Phoebe brushed strands of honey-blonde hair back over her shoulders.

“Babs, your dad is _so_ cool.”

Barbara shrugged.

“He’s alright,” she said, internally glowing with pride. “Now, Consuelo has the tickets, Naomi, I know you snuck in lots of food ‘cause I know your mom taught you how to do that, so Alicia, you should buy the drinks, ‘cause you have the most money of all of us...what?”

Because the older girls were all looking at her with odd smiles.

“We should make _you_ captain,” Naomi remarked warmly. “You’re definitely good at coordinating.”

“Yeah, most people call it ‘being bossy.’” She shrugged again. “But thank you.”

“Seriously, kiddo.” Alicia put a hand on her shoulder. “If you led our team, I’d follow your orders any day.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever make my own team.” Her glow seemed to expand to take over her whole chest.

That happiness continued throughout the whole movie, all the way up to when they headed out of the theater. Then it was all dashed to pieces.

“Hey, Babs, we’re headed into the bathroom. You coming —?”

“Oh, I don’t have to go. You guys just go in without me.”

They exchanged surprised looks, but left her out in the lobby, scuffing her sneakers on the carpet and gazing around at the upcoming movie posters. It was then that the teenage boys who’d just finished paying for their sodas spotted her, immediately moving in like a pack of hyenas on a lion cub.

The first sharp whistle rent through the air and made her lift her head. They were much taller than her, wearing jeans and band t-shirts, growth-spurt-thin with acne and lewd grins.

“What do you guys want?” she asked naively. 

“From a sweet little ginger like yourself? To see if your hair matches your personality.” He cocked his head to the side. “Is it true what they say, babe? That redheads are as hot as their hair in the sack?”

“Yeah, little firecrotch here must be as good as she looks.”

The others laughed, and her entire body seemed to grow hot with shame and humiliation.

“Screw off,” she managed to say, but her voice was much smaller than she’d intended.

“Love to, babe, but only with you.”

“She is feisty. Hope the rest of her lives up to the hype, ‘cause her body sure doesn’t.”

Their laughter was like hyenas’ too; she squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to cry.

“That’s because I’m _twelve_ , assholes.”

“So? What’s your point?”

He reached out, and she wasn’t sure which part of her she was reaching for. As it was, she’d never find out.

Consuelo ran over, cursing in Spanish and hitting the boy in the face with her purse. His buddies gasped as he squealed loud enough for the ticket seller and popcorn seller to look over in shock and stumbled a few feet backwards.

“ _Hijo_ _de_ _la_ _puta_! You get away from her! And the rest of you, _ustedes_ _bastardos_ , you better run with him!”

It was one thing facing a lone twelve-year-old, but facing an angry seventeen-year-old with a heavy purse, and her three other friends who were coming over with equally murderous expressions, turned out to be too much for them. They turned tail and fled before anyone even had a chance to break the fight up.

Barbara took a very deep breath, still refusing to cry, even in front of her teammates.

“You okay, kiddo?” Now that the boys were gone, Alicia’s tone was soft, her long black ponytail, sleek and silky with relaxer, falling over one shoulder. Her brown eyes were full of concern.

“‘Course she’s not okay.” Naomi shook her head, coffee-colored curls bouncing. “Would you be? Have you been, when guys do shit like that?”

“How often do guys do shit like that?” Barbara’s voice was still small.

“All the time,” Phoebe sighed. “It’s wrong, but...well. Why? Didn’t your mom tell you?”

“No. She can’t stand me.”

They all started to console her in unison, telling her that moms were just like that, just bitchy, sometimes weird, sometimes overprotective, that was normal, but they were sure she still loved her.

“No. I know you guys are trying to be nice, but no. She doesn’t love me.”

The other girls were quiet — what could you say to something like that? — as they walked back towards the police cruiser, climbing in almost as soon as Jim pulled into the parking lot.

“How was the movie?”

They all murmured affirmations. Jim gave them a puzzled look.

“You were all so excited a couple hours ago. What happened?”

“Nothing,” Barbara muttered. “Nothing happened, Dad.”

“You can tell me if something happened, Babs.”

She knew that. But she didn’t want to. She thought that if she talked about what the boys had done, and then if she’d repeated what she’d said about his wife, her mother, she knew she’d start crying.

“I’m fine, Dad.”

She knew he didn’t buy it. So much so that when he dropped the other girls off, he encouraged her to get out to say goodbye — so that they could say what he couldn’t.

“It’ll be okay, kiddo,” Alicia said kindly.

“Yeah, I know it sucks,” Naomi agreed, “and it feels so awful, but you’re tough. And we’re here for you, okay?”

She nodded, wanting to believe it.

Phoebe gave her a hug, and a lungful of sweet perfume.

Consuelo held back a little bit while the others started to walk home.

“Hey,” she said in her usual soft, controlled voice, “I’m sorry that happened to you. But I’m not sorry about what I did. Just know that.”

Then she kissed the top of Barbara’s head, and this time, the hot tears finally gushed out. The beautiful older girl regarded her for a few moments, until her own mother started calling her. Then Barbara ran back to the car, diving in and slamming the door.

Her father didn’t even start the car. He just let her cry. Just sat there and let her get it all out.

“Hey,” he said awkwardly after about ten minutes, when her sobs were finally petering out. “I, um, have another meeting with Batman tonight, so I’ll be working late. I was wondering...if you wanted to come with me to the precinct this evening, to hang out there.”

She wiped her eyes, trying to regain her dignity.

“Batman will be there?”

“Please don’t talk to Batman. Or Robin. I’m worried he might try to flirt with you.”

She couldn’t help but laugh a little bit.

“Gross, Dad. Isn’t Robin like, seven?”

“Nine. But I wouldn’t put it past him.” Jim offered her a hopeful, tired smile.

“Either way, no way would I let him flirt with me. Ever.” She wiped her eyes, and he finally started the car. “But it’s still cool that you work with them.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

She wanted to tell him how much she hated it when he and her mother fought over her. Three weeks prior Jim had refused to dip into her college fund, even after a trip to the hospital when James had croup had wiped out the money for the next month’s bills. Barb had accused him of caring more about their daughter then about their son, and Jim had argued back that he’d driven James to the hospital at three in the morning and stayed up all night in the ward while their son was gasping with croup, didn’t he? But he had two children, not one, he’d continued, and how could she accuse him of not loving their son when he’d risked his life to save James’ when he was a baby? She’d replied that it had been his job and his making waves in the GCPD that had put their son at risk in the first place, and the yelling had gone on. Eventually they’d just dipped into their emergency savings and eaten cheaper food and Barbara had paid for that movie trip with her own money, but the atmosphere between her parents had still only grown colder.

But she didn’t mention any of that.

“Thanks for letting me go to your work.”

He nodded to her, reaching over and ruffling her hair, letting it come loose from the braid her mother had put it in.

As soon as they stepped foot through the doorway, Barbara Sr.’s despair hit them again.

“Jim, James took apart the TV wires and accidentally electrocuted a spider.” Barbara very much doubted her brother had killed that spider accidentally. “Where did you put the number for the repairman? I can never find any of your things. This is the second time in two months something’s broken, you need to organize it better —”

James, drinking Kool-Aid in the kitchen, offered her a smile that would’ve looked innocent, except that his mouth was stained vampire-red.

“— and Barbara, I still don’t know how we’re going to afford to send you to college. Maybe you should wait, take a gap year, until the money’s better —”

She couldn’t stop herself this time.

“If you’d stop trying to steal my college money and trying to pretend that my brother’s normal by paying through the nose to take him to fifty different doctors trying to get them to agree with you, then you could send me to an Ivy League.”

“Barbara!”

“Sorry, Dad. Sorry, James.”

“And...?”

“And what?” she snapped. Her mother’s weepiness immediately turned into cold fury. “If you want me to be nice, then you should be there for me. You’re never there for me, or Dad. You talk about Dad like it’s his job to do everything perfectly or he’s a failure, and I might as well not even exist, except when you want to yell at me. You gotta pick, Mom: am I your daughter all the time, or just when I’m a disappointment you can throw in Dad’s face?”

“That’s enough out of you!”

“And I’m not a disappointment! I’m only twelve but I’m a sophomore in high school with a 4.0 GPA, I have a genius-level IQ, I do gymnastics and track and martial arts, my teachers said I could get a full ride to Gotham U in two years, but it’s not good enough because I’m _not_ your _son_ —”

“I said enough!”

“— I’m always too loud, too rude, too smart, too independent, and you don’t understand me, and you don’t love me because _I’m not your son!_ ”

“Barbara,” Jim cut them both off. “Go to your room until dinner. We’ll leave for the precinct after then.”

She still couldn’t run up the stairs in time before the shouting began anew.

“She’s already mouthy and disobedient enough, and now you want to expose her to that horrible vigilante? I don’t even know why you work with him, let alone want your daughter who already doesn’t listen or respect authority exposed to that —”

“He gets results! We need him! And of course I don’t want Barbara getting in the kind of danger he’s in every night, I wouldn’t wish that lifestyle on anyone, but she admires his work! Besides, she’s just going to stay down in the precinct —”

“‘Admires his work’? His work, you mean beating people until they’re in traction? Why can’t you do something about that?”

“What do you want me to do? Forcibly brainwash her? And he hurts violent criminals, not petty ones or civilians! If he did, I wouldn’t work with him! And this isn’t about him, it’s about our daughter. She thinks you don’t care about her, Barb, and I gotta say, you’re not doing a lot to prove her wrong.”

“There you go again, excusing her behavior! She may think she’s entitled to act however she wants because she’s smart, but she’s still a young girl. She needs to act like a young girl, and not like —”

“Like what, Barbara Eileen?” Jim sounded livid. “Like a person with feelings and aspirations? Is she not entitled to those just because she’s a young girl? If James went and pursued his dreams like she does, I’d be proud of him too! Of course I worry about her, Lord knows she gets herself into tough situations, but she’s brave, and she’s got ambition, and I’m proud to have that in a kid.”

Despite that raw hurt that was still throbbing inside her chest, Barbara felt genuinely touched by her father’s words.

“Where do you think that ambition’s going to get her? It’s going to get her in more bad situations. It could get her killed. What if she wants to become a cop? What if she wants to join the military? What if she becomes a vigilante too? I can’t handle the stress she brings me already, Jim, how can I take more of it?”

“She’s not going to become a cop. One in the family’s enough. And she hates the military. Just the other day she kept showing me accounts of civilian deaths in Vietnam and the overly high rates of poor minorities who got drafted to prove how awful the war was — and that’s another thing, she’s moral. She’s got a good heart. How can you just think of her as a source of stress?”

“Because she is! Because you both are! You make me worry constantly, you put yourself in danger constantly, and she’s obviously going down a path like that too, and I’m already sick of living like this!”

“I get that you worry about me. I get that. And I’m sorry. But that’s no excuse for treating your own daughter like —”

“My daughter? She’s _your_ daughter. _You_ insisted on adopting her. _You_ needed to put your brother’s ghost to rest. _I_ said we were already stretched financially, that we already had a child we loved, that I was already responsible for taking care of you two. _I_ never wanted her.”

The raw hurt, forming around a spike in her chest, screamed anew as her mother’s words twisted that spike to her core. As the fight escalated downstairs, Barbara sunk down to the hallway floor and cried again, wept into her hands and hated her mother for not loving her.

It was only the night that brought escape from her mother’s domain, brought relief in the form of the police station. Detective Bullock grumbled a bit about having to babysit, but he patted her on the head and brought her coffee and donuts from the break room. New recruit Officer Montoya, only eight years older than her, let her look at her paperwork and talked to her about her newest case. They both called her “kid” with gruff affection.

It was only the night that piqued her curiosity, made her go up the fire escape when she noticed her father had been gone awhile.

It was only the night that brought the Bat to her father’s rooftop. She stared at that great shadow in awe, and something inside her, already warmed and comforted by the kindness of her father and his coworkers, softened further in wonder at the Bat.

The Bat’s little bird, however...he was different.

“Hi.”

“Um...Hi. I guess,” she said to the scrawny boy in red, yellow, and green. He gave her a nervous little wave, and his smile was shy, but friendly and hopeful.

Batman frowned. Jim had none of it.

“Not on your life, Boy Wonder,” her father said as he steered her away.

For once that day, he was wrong.

 

* * *

 

  _Two-And-A-Half Years Ago_

 

 She was still sore from the C-section, so she rested on the Manor couch while brunch cooked; lying under a throw blanket with a pillow pressed to the healing wound. Her newborn curled up against her chest, sound asleep, while his uncle tried to corral his cousins.

“You two are worth twin migraines,” Duke groaned, finally carrying each of the twins in each arm. “I have never been more glad to not be Jason, and that’s saying something.”

Stella giggled unapologetically, and Luna made a rude noise with her mouth against her hands. Though they were identical, amber-skinned with wide-set eyes and curly black hair, it was easy to tell them apart: Stella had a birthmark on her cheek, her hair was kept close-cropped, and she wore overalls, while Luna’s hair was in a long ponytail and she wore a yellow dress covered in red flowers. Luna was also usually the one with mud or her dads’ machine oil on her hands and an innocent expression while a mess festered in the next room.

“Eighteen months is too young to be devious, but Luna is.”

Barbara laughed, running a hand over her baby’s soft head. Only five days old, and even tinier than his brother had been. His red hair was little more than fuzz, and his fair skin was still flushed and slightly wrinkly. He snuffled in his sleep, nuzzling his tiny, round cheek against her collarbone.

“Luna, Stella,” she said to the twins, “why don’t you go bother your _papi_ for a while?”

“Yes,” Stella agreed firmly. It had been her first word, and she still used it often. Luna’s first word had been “shit;” Jason had gotten quite the earful from Dinah and Alfred after that happened.

Duke put them down, and they toddled off to the kitchen at high-speed, barreling into Jason’s legs and nearly sending him face-first into the stove. Damian, who was minding the French toast next to him, cackled with mirth.

Duke, for his part, just sank down on the armchair opposite her couch. He exhaled hard, fingering the hem of his Gotham University t-shirt, smiling with only a little exasperation.

“I’m kinda gonna be glad to go back to classes in September.”

“Yeah, this family’s a lot,” she agreed. “But you’re gonna miss them.”

“Oh, I will. But I won’t miss Bruce restitching his wounds in the middle of the kitchen when I go to get breakfast or Damian creeping into my room at three in the morning to borrow one of my smoke grenades.”

She winced in sympathy.

“Duke, I mean, you’re nineteen, you’re gonna be starting your sophomore year. Maybe you should get your own place.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. But I’m not looking forward to having to talk Bruce down from buying me a crazy-expensive penthouse like Tim’s or Cass’s to buying me a moderately expensive penthouse. You know what he’s like.”

They both laughed, and then he said, almost like he was still lost in thought,

“And it should be nice, y’know? Lots of room for my gear, some bookshelves, spare room for my friends, maybe another one for when Mom and Dad ever snap out of it...I...I’d want them to visit.”

Barbara stopped laughing. She held Troy a little closer, looking at the boy curled up on the armchair before her.

“How are your parents?” she asked softly.

“Better, I think.” He shuffled his feet against the carpet. “They’ve stopped saying they want to kill me. Last week Dad blew me a kiss. Or maybe he was trying to bite his hand. It was hard to tell.”

She sighed.

“Duke, I’m sorry. I guess the new psychiatrist fell through.”

“Yeah. But medicine’s still developing, you know? Dick’s contact at S.T.A.R. Labs called me the other day, told me they were able to reverse the effects of old Joker toxin in rats after three months on this new drug...they’re holding out hope the effects are reversed permanently. And I know even if it works, it still could be a couple years before it’s ready to be tested on humans, but...I can’t help but hope, can I?”

She quietly marveled at his optimism, still holding true even after nearly four years.

“I just...nah. This is gonna sound dumb.”

“Tell me.”

He breathed out softly.

“I just want a hug from my mom. Bruce is...Bruce is fuckin’ stingy with his hugs, as I’m sure you know. And he’s great, all of you are great...but none of you are my parents.”

Her heart twisted in sympathy.

“I get it. Bruce was never a dad to me either. A dad-like presence, but never a dad. And most you guys are like my siblings —”

“ _Most_ of us,” he agreed, smiling a bit again.

“Yeah, thankfully only _most_. Anyway, a missing parent...even if you get new parental figures later —” She thought of her stepmother with fondness, “— that’s a hole in you that’s never gonna be filled by anyone else.”

Duke nodded.

“I’m glad you get it,” he said. “But I wish you didn’t have to miss your mom too.”

“I don’t miss her, Duke. It hurt like hell at the time, and it’s never gonna get properly fixed, but...” She tapped her chest. “It does help, having other loved ones in your life.”

“I know.” He nodded again solemnly. “Thanks for listening, Barbara.”

“What are sisters for?”

He smiled, getting to his feet and moving over to the couch, gently scooping up the baby.

“Does that mean I can borrow your dad and Sarah to be my parents?” he asked half-jokingly. “I mean, he must be a pretty cool dad for you to name your kid after him.”

“To _sort of_ name my kid after,” she replied lightly. “Troy James is the best I’m gonna get. I just had to agree with Dick ahead of time to not make their first names the same as anyone alive, because it’d be too confusing. I mean, it probably would be, but...”

Duke laughed again, making Troy wake up. The baby stared up at him in owlish curiosity, one tiny hand curling in his uncle’s t-shirt. Barbara looked at her second son with love, carefully sitting up and casting her blanket aside.

“C’mon. Family brunch meeting awaits.”

“Hey, Babs?”

She paused, halfway returned to her wheelchair.

“You don’t need your mom. You’re already a pretty cool one.”

She looked up, this time gazing at her brother-in-law with affection.

“And Duke...you’re a fantastic kid.”

Their family clattered around in the kitchen and dining room as they got out the place settings, laughing and chatting. Troy cooed softly, perfectly content.

 

* * *

 

Barbara Sr. finally looked her daughter directly in the eye.

“Talking about your in-laws, and by extension, about you...made me think about how much of your life I’d missed. Barbara...you’re in your thirties now. You’re not...you’re not a little girl anymore, you’re all grown up. You’ve settled down into a steady job, a steady life, and I missed you maturing like that. I missed you meeting a good man, I missed your wedding. I want to see that you’re happy with your husband.” She picked up the photos of John and Troy again; her voice soft, almost subdued, like it had been in Barbara’s earliest memories. “Your children...I do believe that you love them, that you’re doing your best to be a good mother. I want to see my daughter with my grandbabies. I want to be their grandmother. To be there for you and them, to be there when your daughter’s born. I want us to be...mother and daughter. As much as I want you and her to be.”

All Barbara could do was stare, for a minute. Her heart was in her throat, and she felt incredibly, acutely aware of her baby girl’s slightest motion.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” she said in a monotone, her pulse roaring in her ears.

“Barbara —”

“Thanks for coming by, Mom. But I...I don’t want to talk to you about this.”

“Please just consider.” Her mother extended her hands. “I’ll be in my hotel for another eight days, but I have to save all year for these trips, and I don’t want to wait another one to hear your decision. Or to see your daughter.”

“My daughter...the surgery’ll be in one week.”

“I want to see her,” she insisted. “Your boys too, but I don’t want to miss her birth like theirs.”

Barbara felt her insides compressing and twisting further. She pressed down the urge to scream, to cry. Instead, her voice was still deadpan, almost cold.

“Go. I have things to do.”

“At least tell me you’ll think about it.”

As she said it, they were both surprised by the door creaking open, and more women’s voices carrying inside the Clock Tower.

“Babs, honey, you’ll never guess who I caught on the subway over here! Hope you don’t mind if they join us for lunch — oh, by the way, you left the front door ajar. Pregnancy brain, I get it, but still, can’t be too...careful...”

Sarah Essen’s voice trailed off as she took in the mother and daughter before her. Sarah and her former romantic rival both were in their late fifties now, but even with her wrinkles and the thick shoots of gray in her blonde curls, Sarah was straight-backed, in good shape, well-dressed, and still undeniably beautiful. And it had been nearly thirty years, but they still recognized each other on sight.

Stephanie and Cassandra, her beloved former protégées, poked their heads around the door to see Barbara stiff and silent, her mother standing before her, and her stepmother drawing a sudden breath. Even the sight of her loved ones, of Sarah’s look of understanding, couldn’t dull the pressing sensation inside her.

“I see,” Sarah said quietly. “Hello, Barbara Kean.”

“It’s still Barbara _Gordon_ , Miss Essen.”

Sarah chose to ignore the pointed nod to their former marital statuses.

“I only know one Barbara Gordon,” she said evenly. “And this is her house that you’re in.”

“I have absolutely no need for your opinion on my daughter, you homewrecker,” Barb said icily.

Despite the insult, Sarah’s voice remained even.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have slept with Jim while he was still married to you. That was wrong. But I’ve been Barbara’s stepmother for over thirteen years, and I _do_ care about her. My time with her hasn’t made me want to feel anything otherwise.”

Barbara Sr. was quiet. Then she deliberately turned her back on Sarah, and faced her daughter one last time.

“I’ll be in the Gardner Fox Hotel. Room 1967. Please come talk to me, so we can work something out.”

Then she moved past the other women like a ghost, heading down towards the elevator, her head bowed low. Until she was sure she was gone, Barbara didn’t let herself speak, didn’t let her back get any less stiff; her nails nearly cut her palms but she didn’t unclench her fists.

“...What happened?” Cassandra asked at last.

Barbara absolutely refused to cry. Her eyes burned, but she would not cry any more over her mother.

She headed over to them, and they all passed through, then out of, the foyer.

The door clicked shut behind them.

 

* * *

 

_Twenty-One Years Ago_

  

When Barbara and her father came home from her gymnastics meet, it was an ordinary winter evening. The snow was falling again, and Gotham Heights was shrouded in a soft blanket of white.

“I’d say this came as a surprise, but it really didn’t,” Jim said, reaching over to the passenger seat and ruffling her hair.

Barbara grinned happily and fingered her newest gold medal. It sat just under her jacket, against her leotard, and her chest was so full of warmth that the cold December weather was hardly a bother. All she knew were the satisfying burn of a victory in her muscles, and the look of pride on her father’s face. She was completely happy.

But that happiness was dashed to pieces almost as soon as they got out of the squad car.

“Mom?”

Her mother was filling her own car, the mauve-colored station wagon that Barbara despised, with boxes. James Jr. stood silently next to her, gazing up at the snow; the light reflecting off his glasses made him look like blank white lenses, like he had no eyes. Her mother finally hauled up a suitcase and crammed it into the trunk, before she turned and looked at her husband and daughter.

“Good. You’re back.”

She closed the trunk and walked right over to them in her light gray winter coat, her dark hair clipped back with barrettes. The divorce papers were all but slapped against Jim’s chest; when he pulled them off and looked at them, he didn’t look that surprised, but he did look sorrowful.

“Barbara Eileen, do you really not want to keep trying? I know it’s been hard, but we did love each other once.”

“Face it Jim, there’s nothing left to try.” Her sunken dark eyes wouldn’t meet his. “I don’t love you anymore, and I know you don’t love me.” She paused. “I’m taking James. I asked him who he wanted to live with, and he chose me. You can visit each other, but I’m taking my child with me.”

Jim swallowed hard, looking over at his son. James Jr. just stared back, not showing a flicker of emotion.

“Alright. And I’ll set up visitation with you and Babs too.”

“I don’t want visitation.”

The December cold all crashed down at her at once, squeezing the warm air out of her lungs.

Jim looked appalled.

“What do you mean you don’t —”

“I mean I don’t want visitation. I’m moving out of Gotham, and if I can help it, I’m never coming back to this horrible city. That especially includes any sort of visits back to this house.”

Barbara stared up at her mother. Like she’d often seen before, her mother’s eyes were wet with tears, but she wouldn’t even look at her daughter.

The sobs began to build in her throat.

_Why are you about to cry? You know she never wanted you before. Why would she want you now?_

_Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry in front of her. She doesn’t deserve your tears._

Her hand went up to her hair, to the braid her mother had put it in that morning, so it would stay out of her way during her meet. With deliberation, she ripped the band off the end, raking her fingers through the thick, untamable red locks so that it flowed loose down her shoulders, catching the cold white dots of snow.

“Good,” she found herself saying. “I never want to see you again either.”

Her mother, her namesake, finally looked at her.

“I suppose we finally understand each other.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Goodbye.”

Barbara watched, her hair drifting loose on the icy wind, as her brother got in the car and her mother drove off, never to live in Gotham again, never to live with her again. The station wagon vanished into the snow, and a deep hollow opened in Barbara’s chest, as though a part of her heart had been cut and scooped clean away.

It was only after they were gone that she finally buried her face in Jim’s chest and they both cried.

They stood there in the snow, and he held her close. She sobbed loudly, and he wept silently, and both of them shed hot, bitter tears, and she held on to her father, because he was all she had left.

She didn’t know how long it was before she finally stopped crying. The dark had fallen, and the streetlamps and neighbors’ windows provided the only light with their faint glow. She pulled away, and her father met her eyes.

“We’ll be okay, Babs.” He wiped her eyes with the pad of his thumb. “I know it hurts, and it’s awful, and I’m so sorry. But we’re Gordons. Gordons never give up. And you’re the strongest Gordon of them all.”

She sniffled, feeling the furthest thing from strong.

“I’m tired,” she said. “Can I just...”

He nodded.

“I’ll take the night off. Order some takeout for dinner. Honey, you just take a bath, have something to eat, and go to bed. And I’ll call the school tomorrow morning, so you can just sleep as much as you want.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

They walked into the house. Every belonging, every touch, every remnant of her mother and brother had been stripped from inside, so that only she and her father remained. It was almost comforting in a way, to not smell her mother’s room spray or cooking, only the natural scent of a home, accented faintly by her father’s cigarettes.

She moved towards the bathroom, the hole in her heart throbbing. But she refused to mourn her mother’s absence.

She was gone. She was never coming back.

Barbara would not let herself miss her. Would not let herself want her back.

 

* * *

 

_Three Years Ago_

 

 She had loved visiting Jim and Sarah practically since she’d moved out. It was only better when she brought along company of her own.

Though company was only quiet when he wasn’t excited. And he was excited very often.

“Grampa! Nana!” the twenty-month-old in her lap predictably squealed when the door opened. Though Barbara couldn’t begrudge him for it, only rolled her eyes fondly and handed her child over.

Jim immediately scooped up his firstborn grandson, exclaiming happily about how big he was getting, about how great he looked. John giggled happily as his grandfather carried him off into the house, while Sarah remained in the doorway, smiling.

“And you want another one of those,” she teased.

“Well, this one could be more like me.” Barbara rubbed her hand over her still-flat belly.

“That would sure be nice.”

She pulled her jacket as she wheeled in, her stepmother closing the door behind her.

“You say that, and yet you and I both know I’m kind of a handful.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow.

“Like Dick isn’t?”

“Yeah, but he’s a totally different kind of handful. Once you understand him, he’s not hard to manage. But you need _two_ hands to hold _me_.”

From the kitchen, she heard John clamoring for a taste of the cookie dough out on the counter. Jim chuckled fondly, reminding his grandson that the actual cookies would be ready in just a few minutes.

“I know you’re joking, Babs, but we really do like you.” Sarah put a hand on her shoulder. “That’s why we have two hands.”

She was startled, but couldn’t help but smile nonetheless.

“Thanks, M —”

She stopped.

Sarah gave her a look of near-shock. They stared at each other for an unusually long time.

“I’ll, um. I’ll go put on some coffee.”

Barbara swallowed hard as Sarah also made her way into the kitchen, her heart hammering against her ribcage.

After all these years, she still hated to say it.

Sarah was nothing like her predecessor, but just the idea, the thought, of calling her by that name still hurt her.

It still brought up too much pain.

She had still choked on committing, on saying that name again, and _meaning_ it.

 _Mom_ , she had almost said.

But she hadn’t really been able to call anyone that anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry this took so long. If it’s any consolation, with summer oncoming, I promise that the next chapter will be up sooner.
> 
> Extra warning for homophobic slurs and several non-explicit mentions of rape.

Sarah and the girls were mercifully quiet until she finished telling them what had happened.

“What are you going to do?” Cass said at last.

“I wish I knew.”

Barbara shook her head, poking her fork into her omelette, unusually not hungry.

Stephanie’s favorite diner was as crowded and excellent-smelling as usual, the yellow walls glowing in the pale winter light and R&B rolling from the speakers, the waitresses bustling around with massive platters of food, the scents wafting through the air in wisps of savory steam. Sarah drank her coffee and watched her with lined blue eyes, steady and sympathetic, like her, barely touching her hash browns. Cass steadily made her way through an order of steak and eggs, quiet as usual, her brown eyes piercing, but while Stephanie devoured a stack of blueberry waffles drizzled with lavender honey and whipped cream, she made sure to voice _her_ opinion.

“It’s easy,” she said with her mouth crammed full. “Kick her to the curb. You told her when you were thirteen that you never wanted to see her again, clearly she didn’t get the message. You don’t have to give her an explanation, just go back there and reiterate it.”

Barbara didn’t reply, not even to tell Steph that seeing all that half-chewed food was disgusting. Cass stiffened, clearly aware that she was _really_ shaken if she had no will to scold.

“And I know that you might be thinking ‘what about my kids? Shouldn’t they get the chance to know their grandma, if she really does want to see them?’” Steph gestured with her fork. “If she wanted to see your kids, where was she when you were going to have John? Shouldn’t she have broken down your door to see you, if she was jonesing so hard to be a grandmother? Where was she when he was born? If she was waiting for you to be married and settled, then where was she when you were going to have Troy, when he was born? John’s going to be five in April. He’s already in kindergarten. She missed almost two-thirds of _your_ life and _all_ of theirs. Fuck her.”

“But...what if she has changed?” Cass pointed out. “She’s been gone for so long, it’s...” She indicated her chest. “Like a hole in here. She doesn’t have to forgive her. It’s unforgivable. But what if they could start over? Get another chance?”

“What if they can’t?” Steph challenged.

“Isn’t it worth the risk?”

“I really don’t think it is.”

“This is like being back at you two’s wedding preparations,” Barbara mumbled. “I thought if you debated two dresses versus a dress and a tux for one more minute I was gonna kill myself.”

“Yes, I remember you telling me and your father that,” Sarah agreed. The girls looked unrepentant, still exchanging challenging looks at each other. “Barbara, what I want to know is: do you think it’s worth it?”

“Are you kidding?” She sighed. “I’d be happy if she just left Gotham right now so I didn’t even have to look at her, let alone make this decision. I hate even thinking about her; up until half an hour ago I thought she despised me, and somehow that hurt less than now.”

“Can you fix things, you wonder,” Cass said, “like with Huntress. With Power Girl. With Savant.”

“Yeah, and now I’ve made up for my mistakes and they’re my friends, yeah, I get it. But things could’ve never become good with Katarina, could they have, even if she were still alive.”

Cass nodded sadly, understanding and not challenging this.

“Katarina?” Sarah asked. “This is Katarina Armstrong, Spy Smasher, right? The nationalist anti-terrorist government agent who tried to shut you down and steal your Birds? She was your best friend in college, you told me.”

“Well, I never told you the full truth. Kat and I were...more than friends, actually.”

Sarah’s eyes grew wide, then she nodded solemnly.

“I see.”

“God, did you have _one_ break-up that _wasn’t_ stupendously awkward later?” Steph exclaimed.

“Me and Dinah.”

“Ah, okay.”

“Besides the point,” Cass interjected. “Barbara, you need to decide.”

“No, I don’t.” Barbara wiped her mouth and dropped her napkin next to her half-eaten brunch. “I just want her to leave me alone.”

“That’s just non-action,” Steph complained. “If you want her to go away, you gotta tell her that so she never comes back. I mean, she knows what she did —”

“I’m not getting in another argument with her, Stephanie. I spent the entire five years we lived together arguing with her. Even if my kids do want to visit her, no matter what the rest of my family does, no matter what’s good for them, I don’t want to interact with her.”

“So...”

“So _they_ can choose to visit her. I am not getting involved.”

“They’re babies,” Cass objected. “You’re their mother. _You_ have to choose.”

She violently slapped down a handful of cash, making the silverware rattle.

“Since when does me being their mother count for shit in this family?”

“Barbara —” Sarah started to say.

“Brunch is on me. I’m going home. Goodbye.”

She was clambering back in her wheelchair when Cass said:

“Don’t you want to know...why we wanted to see you?”

She paused with her hands on the pushrims.

“Adoption agency called.” The woman who was like a daughter paused. “Girl’s giving up her baby. She’s due in July.”

“They’re gonna let us keep that baby, Babs.” Steph sounded sad and angry even as she was sharing the news. “We’re gonna be moms. Just like you.”

Barbara bowed her head. She didn’t want them to see her cry right now.

“That’s wonderful. I’m sure you two’ll be amazing mothers.”

“Barbara.” Sarah’s voice was softer. “If there’s something you want from your mom, or want her to know, you _should_ tell her.”

She didn’t look at any of them.

“Thanks for agreeing to see me.”

She pushed open the diner door and rolled back out into the gray winter light.

 

* * *

 

 _Twenty_ _Years_ _Ago_

 

Free period was a blessing for high school seniors. Barbara curled up in the student lounge, pretending to read her textbook, having memorized her notes for her midterms days ago. Instead she hid a magazine she’d swiped from one of the quarterbacks’ locker within the textbook’s pages, biting her lip as she flicked through the pictures of scantily-clad and naked women.

 _Am I gay?_ she wondered, not for the first time. _It_ would _make sense. Didn’t I dream about Consuelo de Peña for five nights in a row when I was twelve?_

Then Audrey Evans, another senior girl, sauntered up to her armchair.

“Hey, Baby Gordon.” The other seniors all called her ‘Baby’ for being three years younger than them, but it was nearly always with a degree of affection. Audrey, tall and gorgeous with silky strawberry-blonde hair, was no exception. “What? Actually studying? What kind of student are you?”

Barbara flipped the book shut, suddenly nervous.

“Gotta keep that scholarship Audrey, you know how it is.”

“Nah, I’m good for college as long as I stay on the tennis team.” Audrey smiled at her, making her heart beat faster. “Not hard, as long as Peaches Jones stays our coach.”

Twenty-four-year-old Coach Jones’ real first name was Anthony, but the tennis girls all called him ‘Peaches’ behind his back. Barbara nodded in solemn understanding.

“He _does_ have an amazing ass,” she said fervently. She yet again thought _No, I can’t be gay. Lesbians don’t feel like this thinking about Peaches Jones in too-small sweatpants._ “I can see why you like him coaching you.”

“An ass girl already? Damn, Baby,” Audrey teased her.

“I’m precocious, what can you do.”

Unfortunately, right then was when Lydia Pearl and Gina Romano came walking up, resting an arm on each of their friend’s shoulders.

“Hey, Audrey. Having fun with the Motherless Wonder over here?”

“Gina, play nice,” Audrey admonished. “I like the kid. Besides, I’d rather talk to Baby than some of the other girls on our team, that’s for damn sure.”

“Why, what’s wrong with them?” Barbara asked.

Lydia smirked nastily.

“Well, I never like to say anything about my teammates, but some of those new girls seem less interested in our coach and more in Serena Williams, if you know what I mean.”

A sick pit opened in Barbara’s stomach.

“Right. _That’s_ what’s wrong with them,” she mumbled.

“Don’t get us wrong though,” said Gina, giggling, “they are very good at playing the other side of the court. Absolutely dyke-tastic.”

“Hey, they are very good,” said Audrey. Then she frowned. “That being said, what was the school thinking, letting them in the same locker room as us? I mean, jeez. I wouldn’t want creepy _boys_ skeeving on us while we change.”

“They should put them in the boys’ locker room,” snickered Lydia. “Get them out of our hair. And hey, maybe the boys’ll set ‘em straight, literally if we’re lucky.”

“Forcefully if necessary,” Gina agreed.

Audrey didn’t disagree, just shrugged solemnly.

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?”

All three older girls started. Everyone else in the student lounge turned and stared at her.

Barbara could feel her whole body burning, but she didn’t stop talking.

“Saying you hope someone gets raped for being gay? How the fucking hell could you think that’s okay?”

“Jesus, Gordon, I didn’t know you were so wrapped around the axle about a few dykes,” said Gina, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah,” Lydia agreed, “I mean, after AIDS and all, there aren’t a lot of gays left. I don’t see why anyone would care about them.”

“I don’t see why anyone would care about _you_ ,” Barbara spat. “Rancid little taints.”

Fury flashed across Lydia’s and Gina’s faces, but Audrey lifted a hand. She looked at Barbara like she was seeing her for the first time.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “It’s okay that your priorities are all messed up. Not having your mom around _would_ fuck someone up real good.”

Someone nearby snickered. The other girls lit up as they smelled blood.

“I wouldn’t want her back even if she came back,” Barbara snarled, Audrey’s betrayal hurting like salt on an open wound.

“Well, she certainly didn’t want you, did she?” Lydia sneered. “And God knows I can see why. Smartass little bitch.”

“Fuck you.”

“Nah,” said Gina brightly, “but I can think of some of our teammates who’d take you up on that.”

“I think she gets it,” said Audrey mildly as her friends cackled. “C’mon. Physics starts in ten minutes.”

As they walked away, part of her wanted to call her dad and tell him everything, to lay herself bare. But most of her refused to admit to anyone that weakness had been seen in her, even her own father.

She packed up her textbook with a stiff back, trying not to listen to her peers’ whispers around her. Then she ran to the room where she had her next class in, spending the next ten minutes choking down her hurt and her lack of someone to share it to.

 

* * *

 

 _Three_ _Years_ _Ago_

 

Late September hadn’t yet ended the heat of a Gotham City summer, but the sun was already setting earlier and the leaves were turning brown around the edges. John reached out and exclaimed at everything from his stroller, Ari strained at the end of her leash, and Odie napped in the underside of the stroller.

“Why are we even trying to have another kid when we have this lot already,” Dick laughed as they reached the park, tugging Ari back from a crumpled chip bag.

“It was your idea to get the dog.”

“It was yours to get the cat.”

“The cat’s easy to take care of.”

Odie illustrated this point by turning over in his makeshift bed and showing his furry white belly, still asleep.

“And don’t act like trying to have another kid is difficult for you or anything.” She imitated his voice. “‘Oh no, I spent the whole summer and most of the spring having sex with my wife at any and all opportunity, my life is so hard.’”

“‘Hard’ is the right word for it.”

“ _Richard_.”

Snickering, he unclipped Ari’s leash as they reached the grass; she barked joyfully and took off, scattering a flock of pigeons, sniffing at the base of an oak tree. The noise woke up Odie, who glared irritably until Barbara reached under the base of the stroller, picking him up and setting him on her lap.

John, clearly inspired by the cat, sat up and waved both fat fists at his father.

“Up, Dat. Up. Out.”

“Say ‘please,’” Dick said lightly.

“Peas.”

“Close enough.”

He scooped up his son and gently placed him down on the grass feet-first. John immediately started toddling after the shaken pigeons, trying to make friends by calling “Birs! Birs!” and not being put off by their efforts to fly away. In an unusual moment of vulnerability, Barbara let him pick her up too, setting her down on a park bench and sitting next to her. They leaned into each other, breathing in each others’ presence; watching Ari romp around with two other dogs, watching John stubbornly still trying to befriend the pigeons, feeling Odie curl up and purr on her lap.

Dick wrapped an arm around her shoulders and sighed contentedly. The air had lost most of summer’s humidity, but it was still warm enough to forego a jacket, the afternoon sun painting everything in a wash of saffron. Her skirt fluttered in the breeze; she could feel both Dick’s and Odie’s breathing against her.

“It does not get better than this.”

“Well, actually...” Barbara’s hand stilled on the cat. He lifted his head. “It _might_ just get better than this.”

“What are you saying?”

She gazed out over the park, at the beginning of a new autumn.

“I’m pregnant.”

The look on his face at her news made her giggle.

“You look Tim when Steph bricked him in the face.”

“It — it worked this time?” He kept staring at her open-mouthed and goggle-eyed. “We’re gonna have another baby?”

“Right in one, Boy Detective.”

“How — how far?”

“Only three weeks. I just found out yesterday. But we did it, sweetheart.” She smiled at him. “I already set up our first appointment with Dr. King in three days.”

Much to Odie’s annoyance, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into a kiss; she held his shoulders and the back of his head and kissed him back, so happy, so in love. 

There was a soft grunt from behind them, a grunt of disgust that she barely heard.

What she did hear was a sudden shriek.

They broke apart immediately, the cat squirming and leaping free, and Dick leapt to his feet. She saw at once that John had fallen while running too fast, both knees and both palms skinned and running blood. He whimpered in pain, blue-gray eyes filling with tears.

Her husband sped to their child, and Barbara instinctively tried to get up, to run too —

— before she realized too late that that wasn’t possible, before she fell uselessly to the grass, her skirt ripping on the edge of the bench, her palms grating against the grass.

“Damn it!” she cried, just as Dick came back with their son in his arms. He gave her a concerned look, but their baby took priority; John was still wailing, and so his father soothed him, stroking his hair and kissing his face, but even as his cries became quieter, he was still visibly distraught.

“Some mother she is,” muttered someone behind the park bench. “Why she has one child is beyond me, let alone two.”

“Guess they’ll let just anyone marry and breed these days.”

“You’ve got that right.”

She lifted herself up enough to see two old couples standing along the pathway. One of the old men held a bag of birdseed, one of the old women was hiding a look of thinly veiled revulsion behind her hand.

Suddenly as angry as much as she was upset, Barbara extended her arms, letting John be passed into them. She caressed her baby, rocking him, wiping his tears and blood away with her bare hands, letting them stain her clothes. Soon his cries died down into soft whimpers, and then quiet, fisting his small hands in her shirt.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s okay. I love you so much. You’re gonna be okay.”

Her calf had gotten cut open, the rip of her skirt fluttering around it. She wiped at the blood with one hand, absently acknowledging the injury that she couldn’t feel.

“This is why _those_ people shouldn’t have children,” muttered one of the old women. “Can’t even take care of themselves, so they want the rest of the world to bend over backwards for them.”

“Can’t deal with herself, what makes her think she can deal with babies?”

“It’s even worse when you consider the interracial breeding on top of it —”

“Hey!” Dick barked at them, making them jump. “Screw off!”

They scuttled down the pathway like frightened crabs just as John blinked away the last of his tears.

“Ma.” He patted her shirt, and she held him a little closer. Dick bent and rummaged around in her purse, withdrawing antiseptic and bandages, carefully patching up his son, pressing a kiss to each hand and knee, his touch making their baby finally smile again. He then turned to the cut on her leg, dabbing away the blood.

“I take back what I said about not needing to carry first aid supplies.”

“Told you so.” She smiled weakly, then looked down at John, smoothing a thick black lock of hair out of his face. His distress gone, he looked up at her with nothing short of adoration, stuffing his fingers in his mouth. “Hey, you. How would you like to have a little brother or sister?”

He blinked.

“Now?”

“No, not now. Not for a while. But would you like that?”

He pondered it.

“Yeh.”

She kissed his forehead. Odie came padding back over, tiny pink nose sniffing carefully at John’s knees before he clambered up on to her shoulder and began licking the toddler’s hair.

Dick sat down next to them, rubbing his hand up and down their son’s back until John was curled up asleep with his parents curled around him and a cat hovering over him. By then, the sun was starting to dip low towards the horizon.

“So, you found out you were pregnant on your birthday?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh. I knew I should’ve put more effort into my presents for you. Nothing I could get you could ever top knowing that you were going to get a baby.”

“Well, the first-edition novel almost topped it,” she joked. “As for the assorted bath stuff, it really depends on how handsome the guy who’s gonna be rubbing my back with my new lotion is.”

“Eh.” Dick made a wavy gesture with his hand. “I’d say he’s only so-so looking.”

She looked at him.

“You okay?”

“What — _I’m_ fine. Are _you_ okay?”

“I will be.”

If she said it hard enough, it was easier to make true.

 

* * *

 

She tried to throw herself into her work. She was so intent on trying to forget, so wrapped up in her head, that she didn’t notice the hours slipping away, didn’t even hear the door open.

That is, until her children all but threw themselves into her lap, shrieking joyfully.

“You’re back!” Trying to ignore the heaviness in her heart, she scooped John back up onto her knees, then lifted Troy up into the air, making him giggle. “Did you and Daddy have a nice time?”

“Yeah!”

“We had donuts.”

“I got this hat.”

“We met criminals,” Troy finished solemnly.

“...Say what now?”

“Daddy had to do some paper stuff and we went by where they keep the arrested people,” John explained. He adjusted the aforementioned police hat on his head; it was far too big for him, obscuring his forehead all the way down to his eyebrows. “And the nice criminals talked to us. They said we were cute.”

Barbara slowly turned and looked at her husband.

“Is that so?”

He spread his hands in a calming gesture that did not make her feel calm.

“Babs, relax, they weren’t violent or creepy or anything; they were just prostitutes.”

“Yeah.” John pushed his hat up. “What’s a prostitute?”

Barbara glowered.

“Okay, I think that’s enough great parenting on my part for one day,” Dick said nervously, scooping them both up and setting them down on the carpet. “You two go play while I make dinner and try not to get murdered.”

“Murder’s crime too,” Troy said thoughtfully before they both sped off.

Barbara exhaled hard and leaned back in her wheelchair, again feeling tired and heavy. The baby girl pressed her foot insistently against her, and being reminded again about how she was going to be the mother to a daughter, she felt even more miserable.

“Barbara?”

She shut her eyes for longer than was necessary.

“Are you planning how you’re going to get away with the sudden, brutal death of your husband?” His voice suddenly became serious, concerned. “Or is there something really bothering you?”

“It’s nothing, Dick. Don’t worry about it.”

“If it’s nothing, then why did Cass call me while I was on my way home?”

Her eyes flew open; she tried not to panic or cuss out Cass.

“What did she tell you?”

“That I need to check up on you, help you out, that when I got there you were going to be shaken up real bad. Obviously she said it with fewer words, but still.”

She took a deep breath, fisting her hands in her hair. He knelt before her, placing his hands on her armrests. For a while, she said nothing, and he didn’t press her.

“Did she also tell you about hers and Steph’s baby?”

“She did.” He nodded. “I’m really happy for them. I think they’re going to be fantastic mothers.”

“I think so too.” All of a sudden, she found herself blinking more, feeling her eyes well up. “Dick, my mom came by.”

He froze, eyes going huge.

“Your...mom? Your mom. Not Sarah?”

“No, my mom. The one that I haven’t seen in over twenty years.”

“The one that left you when you were thirteen.” His voice remained even, but she could see anger beginning to build in his eyes, heard the scratch of his nails against her armrests. “Why now? After all this time?”

“She found out about you and the kids.” She blinked hard, but it didn’t stop the first tears from running down her cheek. “She wants a second chance, to be there for me and the boys, to...” She swallowed. “To be there when our girl’s born. To bond with me, as mothers with daughters.”

He recoiled.

“To bond with — you’re nothing like her. She’s selfish, she treated you like a nuisance, she kicked you to the curb at the first possible chance —”

“I don’t want to talk about that, Dick.”

He reached up and held her face, wiping her tears with his fingertips.

“I’m sorry, love.” His voice had softened. “I didn’t mean to dredge that up for you. I can only imagine how that must feel.”

“At least she’s only in town for a few more days. I just...even if she wants to spend time with her grandchildren, even if her grandchildren want to spend time with her, I don’t know if I could bear being around her like nothing happened.”

“Then don’t.” His voice was still soft, but his eyes were fierce. “I know what it’s like to have to be around someone who hurt you, and you don’t have to put yourself through that. And frankly, I don’t think our kids should be around her either.”

“But what if she _has_ changed? Forget _my_ relationship with her. Wouldn’t it benefit our kids to be around their grandmother, instead of having her be a stranger to them?” She sighed, wiping her own tears. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Our kids _have_ grandmothers.”

“Our kids are never going to know a ton of their own family. I don’t — I don’t want them to go through what we did, to lose or ever be isolated from anyone else. Our daughter —”

“Our daughter won’t go what we went through,” Dick assured her.

“How can you be so sure?”

One of his hands moved to cup her belly, fingers rubbing gently through the fabric of her sweater over where the baby was moving.

“She has you.”

She wished that could reassure her. Instead, a new fear gripped her. On that day, the idea of having her daughter, her baby girl that she’d wanted and waited for all those months, suddenly terrified her.

“No matter what she’s like, no matter what happens, you and I’ll love her. She’ll have you there as her mom. So she’ll be okay, I promise.”

It was something like the promises they’d made to each other a thousand times since they’d gotten engaged — to never leave each other again. They meant it, but it was impossible to know if they could keep it in such a dangerous line of work. In this case, it was impossible to know if they could keep it with such a dangerous family line.

“I hope you’re right.” Barbara rested her hand over his. “Hey. I really am happy for your sister. She and Steph have grown so much...I should call her and tell her that, better this time.”

“Yeah, you know better than anyone that I have a fuckin’ awesome sister.” He smiled at her. “And that her wife is pretty fuckin’ awesome too.”

“Remember their wedding?”

“Yeah, Conner caught the bouquet. You were the matron of honor; Tim was the best man. The guest list was just a bunch of superheroes all surrounding Steph’s mom.”

Even Barbara smiled.

“I’m certain Crystal’s figured out her daughter’s ‘night job’ by now.”

“She’s not your dad, but I wouldn’t doubt it.” He kissed the top of her abdomen. “Alright, I’m gonna go fix dinner. I’m here for you, okay?”

“I know, Boy Wonder. You always are.”

She meant it, and she really did appreciate his kindness, but even as he left she still felt heavy. Each of her daughter’s kicks felt like an echo of the thoughts pounding against her head, and of the memories.

 

* * *

 

 _Nineteen_ _Years_ _Ago_

 

She wasn’t quite prepared for the openness and opportunity that she found on the Gotham University campus, but once she got over her shock, she reveled in it. She threw herself into her information and data retrieval major, continued gymnastics and track, joined the collegiate speech and debate team, and found herself often having lunch with other young feminists and activists, discussing everything from the war in Iraq to AIDS to underrepresentation of women and minorities in popular media. She was delighted to find an academic challenge as much as she was to find so many people who agreed with her.

The only thing that surprised her new friends was that she refused to date.

“I don’t have time,” she informed them over coffee one day. “My studies take point, you know that.”

Her friends all took this with a grain of salt.

“Girl,” said Ali Meadowlark, one of her fellow runners who was the granddaughter of Gotham’s first black female judge, “if you have time to have two-hour-long talks with us, you have time to find someone cute. Someone you can have two-hour-talks with too; I refuse to let someone as smart as you date a fool, even a cute one.”

“I could set you up with one of the girls in the Gay-Straight-Alliance,” offered Priscilla Rose, who was on the debate team with her and had a truly fabulous butch haircut, “Lettie here and I know so many great lesbians. Other than myself, of course.”

“You’ll love those girls,” agreed Lettie Yang, who wore blue lipstick and was majoring in forensics, “Listen to her, Babs. Come be with your people.”

“I don’t want to date _anyone_. And I told you, I don’t even know if I’m a lesbian.”

“You like girls,” Priscilla pointed out. “What else is there to it?”

“I don’t just like girls. Sometimes I like boys.”

“Yeah, I used to think that too. But it was only because I felt like I _had_ to like boys, not because I actually did. You’ll get over it eventually.”

Barbara was more than a little annoyed that her friend assumed that was the case with _her_ , but she kept it to herself.

“Why really don’t you want to date?” asked the last member of the table, Shira Goldschmidt, the basketball-playing daughter of a Metropolis detective. “Are you scared or something?”

Barbara scoffed nervously into her coffee cup.

“No way. The only thing I’m scared of is the blonde menace outrunning me at a track meet this spring.”

“Armstrong?” Ali said sympathetically. “I hear that you’re scared. I’m told she’s got a 4.0 and she’s up to her eleventh language.”

“I’m told she made Mercedes Estefan cry for questioning the war on terrorism,” Lettie muttered. “What a nationalist.”

Shira didn’t give up so easy.

“C’mon Babs. There’s nothing to be scared of. Dating’s actually really fun, once you filter past the weirdos.”

“I really have no interest right now.” Barbara drank deeply, before putting her cup down with a clunk. “And all the stuff that comes after dating, commitment, love, marriage, babies, all that sounds incredibly unappealing to me.”

Priscilla exhaled.

“I can’t tell if you’re antiestablishment or if something happened to you when you were a kid.”

“Yeah, fifteen’s kinda young to be so jaded,” Ali agreed.

“Nothing happened,” she lied. “Serious relationships just sound really stressful, and just, all around the opposite of fun.”

“No kids either?”

“Absolutely not. I have zero interest in ever being a mother.”

Lettie spread her hands.

“Look on the bright side,” she said with bright, deep sarcasm. “Gay people can’t get married or accidentally get pregnant anyway! Saves you a whole lot of trouble.”

They all laughed darkly, enough to draw dirty looks from several people sitting near them.

“That does save you a lot of trouble,” said Shira, but Barbara still noticed sympathy in her friend’s eyes. She did her best to ignore it.

“Anyway.” She lifted her empty cup. “Next round’s on me. Who wants cinnamon rolls?”

They thankfully left her alone after that. But when her four friends started talking about their own love lives, the amazing girls Lettie and Priscilla were with and the amazing boys Ali and Shira were with, it left her feeling hollow. All she could do was pick at her cinnamon roll, wondering if her friends would eventually be happier with their partners than her parents had been with each other, thinking that she would be lucky to avoid her parents’ experience altogether.

 

* * *

 

_Three-And-A-Half Years Ago_

 

“So Stephanie said yes.”

Dinah pressed her hand to her mouth, barely restraining her tiny shriek of delight.

“How did Cass do it?” she wanted to know. Sprawled out on the couch in sweatpants, with her arm in a sling and her ankle in a brace, ribs and eyes bruised, gray-black roots poking through her blonde waves, she was still recovering from an altercation that had involved evil power-hungry scientists brain-swapping themselves into the bodies of gorillas. Again. “Tell me _everything_.”

Barbara squinted at the computer screen, but kept talking.

“They were sparring together in the Batcave, in their tank tops and sweatpants as you do, and at one point, Cass reached for the sandbags and said ‘catch.’ So Steph put her hands up, but instead of throwing a bag at her, Cass threw her a jewelry box. Then when Steph opened it up, Cass got down on one knee and just said ‘Will you marry me?’ Then Steph tackle-hugged her so hard she scared the bats and nearly gave Cass a concussion.” She paused while Dinah cooed happily. “Nobody in this family can propose normally, it seems.”

“Running theme in our community.” Dinah stretched across the couch. On top of her injuries and her need to touch up her hair, Barbara did not fail to notice the lines developing across her best friend’s face, or the purple shadows under her eyes. “Scott asked Barda after escaping a fiery hell-world. Clark asked Lois after coming back from the dead. Bruce asked Selina in the rain with a stolen diamond. Wally asked Linda right after pulling her out of the speed force, of all things. Arthur asked Mera under-fucking-water. We’re superheroes; shit happens, we love right through it.”

Despite her words of wisdom, Barbara heard an undercurrent of melancholy in her friend’s voice. She turned away from her computer desk, rolling over to her.

“Di, what’s wrong? Are you thinking about Ollie?”

“What?” Dinah’s head snapped up. “No. What makes you think I’m thinking about Ollie?”

“You were talking about love and seemed kind of sad, and I just —”

“Oh.” She sighed. “No, it’s not that. The League of Assassins heard from a little birdie that their meal ticket might not be dead after all. The monastery’s having to double down on protective measures indefinitely in order to keep Sin away from them, and I won’t be able to see her until they lift those measures.”

All of her happiness suddenly evaporated and a weight dropped into Barbara’s stomach.

“You’re not going to be able to see your own daughter indefinitely?”

“At least a year, they say.” All pretense gone, Dinah looked deeply, deeply miserable. “She’s twelve now, Babs. I already missed so much of her childhood, and at the rate they’re going, I’m going to miss it when she grows into a woman. Nobody says they want to explain periods and hormones and sex to their little girl, but now I’d give anything for that to be a certainty.”

She thought of her baby boy, who was spending the day with Damian at the zoo, probably giggling at the monkeys and staring at the giraffes and being cuddled and fed ice cream and lovingly being called “ _habibi_.” (Because no one Damian knew would be around to risk his reputation. But at this point, maybe he would even if they were.)

With that in mind, Barbara climbed up onto the couch next to her friend and opened her arms. Without hesitating, the older woman buried herself in her embrace, letting Barbara hold her close, letting her run her hands over her back and head, sharing in her sorrow. Dinah began to cry, just a bit at first, but it soon became full-blown tears. Complete with the injuries, she was a truly sorrowful sight.

“I’m so sorry, Di.”

“I miss her,” Dinah sobbed. “I miss her so much. The only thing I want is for the League to just fucking _go_ _away_ so I can have my daughter back.”

“I know. I know.”

Nothing mattered then except for her friend in her arms, and the lingering, always-in-the-back-of-her-mind fear of losing her own child, in one way or another. She thought about how ripped apart Bruce had been by Jason’s death, how unbalanced Roy had been after he nearly lost Lian to Prometheus, her own father’s begging and crying and prayers over her half-conscious body as she lay in a hospital bed.

“I can’t even imagine how much it hurts, Di.”

“I hope to God or Diana’s gods or whomever that you never have to find out.” Dinah finally sat up, wiping her eyes on the hem of her t-shirt. “It’s any parent’s worst nightmare: never seeing your child again.”

 _That_ made Barbara think of her mother.

She pushed that thought away, focusing once again on her friend.

“I’ve got you, Di. I’m so, so sorry about Sin. But I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Dinah sniffled, tears soaking her cheeks and clinging to her black lashes.

“You’ve always been here for me, Babs.”

“I...”

“Nah. Save it. You always have, even when we were apart.”

Barbara still wasn’t too sure Dinah’s faith in her wasn’t misplaced, sometimes. But she didn’t say that, just held her, let Dinah cry in her arms for as long as she needed.

The sun barely, just barely, managed to poke through the gray sky over Gotham.

 

* * *

 

Barbara didn’t sleep much that night.

Her husband was off saving the city, and without him their bed was lonely, his side far too cold. She couldn’t stay there, so she went to go get some routine things done, but even her normally-gratifying work didn’t make her feel any better. She eventually pushed away from her computer desk in frustration, rolling restlessly through her home. She picked several books off her shelves, then put each back in turn, until she came across one of the many pregnancy books she’d bought when she was expecting John. When she turned to a random page, she came across an illustration of the mother holding the baby post-birth, cuddling it to her chest with a look of utter love on her face.

Her chest tightened, and she shoved the book away with unnecessary force; she’d definitely not reacted like that reading it the first few times.

Going to the living room, she found Ari asleep on her back, squeaky toys scattered about the area, but Odie was prowling by night too. His eyes glowed like lamps as he moved silently across the floor, blending with the shadows, reminding her affectionately of Bruce and easing her discomfort a bit. He pounced on a moth, which immediately slipped free from his paws, making his tail lash in annoyance.

“Cats have it so easy.”

Odie looked up at her then, tilting his head to the side.

“You have no schedule, and you live up to no one’s expectations.”

He batted at a cloud of dust motes.

“Case in point.”

She had to roll a little more to get Ari’s squeaky toy from where it had fallen among the shoes, bending with great difficulty to retrieve it from so far down. Her sons’ shoes, where the squeaky toy had landed, were so absurdly small they were almost like little circles. They were also well-scuffed from spending the day walking around the precinct with their father, just like she’d done at her father’s precinct when she was young.

Barbara dropped the toy near the sleeping dog and went to look in on her children. Both little boys were sound asleep, John’s black hair sticking up like feathers and his small arms wrapped around his plush elephant, Troy’s face buried in his pillow while he clutched a Batman toy in one hand.

They were so...innocent. Carefree. And their generation was the first in their family to be so for God knew how long.

She gently rolled Troy over onto his side, brushing his red hair, the same color as hers, out of his sleeping face. When she went to John to check on him, his hand clutched her fingers just like he’d done as a baby.

Before she’d first become pregnant, specifically, before she’d met Steph and Cass, her main concern about having babies was that she’d never be able to muster up maternal love and care for anyone, let alone her own children. When she’d fallen in love, she’d shied away and so worried that love was not enough.

Now that both those things were disproven, she worried that all her progress was not enough. That despite all she’d done, all she’d become, throughout all her relationships she’d continuously been channeling that thirteen-year-old girl watching her mother drive away into the snow, who’d run away from other people in turn, who’d tried to harden her heart to avoid it being broken.

So as she worried, she blamed herself for causing so much pain, but she blamed the source of it as well.

Because she could trace a lot of her heartbreak right back to her mother.

 

* * *

 

 _Eighteen_ _Years_ _Ago_

 

Barbara walked away from her race with an odd bubbling in her veins. Katarina Armstrong, the rich girl who seemed to be as good or better than her in every way, who all her friends had warned her against, had...acknowledged that Barbara was better at something. That she was a superior runner. She’d seen jealousy in Katarina’s eyes, maybe, but also...something else. Something she truly believed was admiration, even awe.

Barbara rode the high of Katarina’s awe, of someone on or above her level admiring her, all the way through the rest of the week. In the meantime, everyone noticed her good mood. Her friends pressed her about it, her professors raised appreciative eyebrows, students outside her circle gave her odd looks, and she refused to talk about it to anyone.

It was strange...feeling so happy about someone liking her. Normally she didn’t care one way or the other, and she didn’t feel comfortable talking about such an uncharacteristic feeling.

But when she ran into Katarina again between classes, that feeling became obvious.

“Hey there, Gordon.”

Barbara nearly dropped her books as the other girl appeared before her. They were the same age, the only sixteen-year-old sophomores in the whole university, but Katarina was a couple inches taller, and, to Barbara’s eyes, much prettier: long blonde hair, sharp blue eyes, perfect teeth that had probably never needed braces, a clear complexion with no freckles or any sort of blemishes whatsoever.

Despite herself, she felt her heart speed up, felt blood rush to her cheeks.

“Hey there yourself, Armstrong,” she managed. “Haven’t seen you since I kicked your ass last week.”

“You barely won.” Katarina’s eyes sparked. “But I stand by what I said: it was a good race. I like to be challenged, I find it’s good for me.”

“Me too,” Barbara agreed, then: “Though you weren’t exactly a challenge, slowpoke.”

For a second, she thought Katarina was going to be angry. Then the other girl threw her head back and laughed full-bodily, and Barbara’s whole being seemed to lift.

“Touché, Gordon. Not bad. Not bad at all.” Those ice-blue eyes seemed to consider her. “Want to get a cup of coffee? I don’t have class again till 2:00.”

Barbara didn’t have class for a while either and she was about to accept, but something held her back. Even if Katarina were gay, even if she felt the same, even if she wasn’t as arrogant and cruel as the rumors swirling around her suggested, it could still be a mistake to give into the fluttering she felt in her chest. Even under the best circumstances, she knew that she risked getting her heart broken.

So she tried something.

“Sure. I could always use another friend.”

“Good to know,” Katarina said easily, and her worries melted away. Just friends. That she could handle. “Because I have the feeling you and I could be very good friends.”

It certainly seemed like Katarina had been right. Because coffee had lasted so long that it nearly made them both late for class, and hours later Barbara found herself in Katarina’s dorm room, seated at the end of her bed. Her roommate was off at a house party, and the two girls had decided to study together.

But they’d finished studying nearly twenty minutes prior, and she still hadn’t headed back to her own dorm. Instead, something Katarina had said had sparked Barbara’s tongue.

“But Al-Qaeda and the Khmer Rouge would not exist, or at the very least would not have come to the power that they did, without the United States’ interference,” she said firmly. “And we put the Shah in power in Iran, and we backed a totalitarian government in Cuba, if not creating then increasing resentment towards us in both countries. All the wars and regimes that followed didn’t happen because we were following some righteous cause, Kat, but because of our greed for oil and our paranoia of communism. You can’t deny that.”

“And the communist governments that came to power in Vietnam and Cuba, and, dare I say, the Soviet Union, were somehow better than the ones we backed?” Katarina challenged. “The censorship, the propaganda, the food shortages, the mass imprisonments and executions, those were all preferable? And your point about resentment is much less valid when you consider the thousands of Vietnamese and Cubans and Arabs and Russians who’ve been fleeing here. We have lasting proof from the last two hundred years and counting that our government and our way of life work better than anyone else’s.”

“They work, but for who?” Barbara challenged. “Certainly not for most of the refugees you mentioned, or even most immigrants at all. Systematic poverty and racism are part of our very way of life, and so capitalism does not work for everyone, like you claimed. In fact, our class system is incredibly rigid and statistically most people do not manage to break out, but either become trapped in poverty or gluttonously accumulate unnecessary wealth until they die and leave their children to become still wealthier.”

“Do you propose we do away with capitalism? And then what, Babs? You brought up Austria, Denmark, and Belgium, among others, but do you really believe more socialist measures to be a cure-all? Other socialist European countries, like Hungary, still have poor quality social programs and no shortage of poverty, while Belgium’s social welfare puts a strain on the rest of the country and limits its ability to function and Denmark’s taxes would glut most Americans into starvation.”

“Of course. But not the rich Americans. They’re the ones we should be getting the funding for our national programs from. Doesn’t that make sense? A billionaire could provide housing for literally every homeless person in the country, and they’d still be rich. Those people have infinite power to help everyone else, but what billionaire uses that power? Don’t you think that those with means have a responsibility to use those means to benefit their community?”

“Too sentimental,” Katarina dismissed. “Think with your brain, Barbara, not your heart. You have to use logic when you’re debating.”

Barbara gritted her teeth a bit, but persisted.

“Alright. Kat, when you help your country, by extension you’re helping the _people_ within that country, not just the government. The country relies on the people, and vice versa. So it makes sense to help and provide for the people, so that the country can continue to function. At best, it should be a symbiotic relationship.”

“But the _way_ you want it to be symbiotic —” Katarina paused, then laughed. “Wow. I haven’t debated like that in — ever. Definitely not without completely destroying my opponent and making them give up within two minutes. You’re both the smartest and the most stubborn person I’ve ever argued with.”

More butterflies fluttered around Barbara’s chest. She pushed them down, did her best to ignore the warmth she felt.

“You are too,” she said, resisting the urge to say _And_ _the_ _prettiest_.

Katarina glanced at her alarm clock, then started.

“Is it two in the morning already? Damn it, I promised myself I’d get enough sleep for the test tomorrow.”

“I have an essay due tomorrow too.” Barbara stretched her arms up over her head, then readjusted her glasses. “I mean, it’s done already, but I still need to be awake enough to not forget it on my desk.”

“Something tells me you don’t forget much, Babs.” Katarina’s eyes sparked, and Barbara’s heart beat faster.

Then the roommate came stumbling in, mascara tears streaking her face, her normally lovely hazel-brown hair in a mess around her head. Barbara started, Katarina looked annoyed.

“What is it now, Stacy?”

“Brandon dumped me,” she hiccuped. “Right — right in the middle of the party. Says — says he can’t keep going out with a girl who’s so easy. Even after I told him I thought I was pregnant...”

Barbara’s heart froze.

“Well, drop out of school,” Katarina said matter-of-factly.

“Wh — what?”

“You don’t have the dedication, energy, or intelligence to raise a child and go to school. So do yourself and your kid a favor and drop out.”

“But...but...” poor Stacy tried to say.

“This is what comes of sleeping brainlessly with men,” Katarina sneered. “Your actions have consequences, Stacy. Deal with it.”

Stacy looked so miserable that Barbara spoke up again.

“Don’t listen to her,” she said. “Kids shouldn’t be a punishment. Get an abortion Stacy, or give it up for adoption if you don’t like abortion.”

Katarina looked incredulous even as Stacy looked pathetically relieved.

“You want her to be able to weasel out of this? To be able to get out of her own stupid decisions?”

“Trust me,” Barbara said grimly, “If your parent doesn’t want you, when the other option is living with someone who resents you and your very existence, I promise it’s better to be far away from them. Hell, it’s better to not exist at all. You’ll have nothing to feel guilty about, Stacy.”

Though she privately agreed that Stacy shouldn’t have given herself to Brandon so easily. Right here was the proof.

“Oh God, thank you, you’re so nice.” Stacy nearly strangled her giving her a hug of thanks. “Thank you so much.”

As Barbara got her coat and prepared to go, she gave Katarina a challenging look.

“Do you still like being around me?” she asked, half-hoping Kat would say no.

Her expression as Stacy wiped off her smeared makeup was inscrutable.

“Much as we disagree...yes. Yes, I have to say I do.”

Though it gave her another thrill, Barbara had been afraid she’d say that.

Even more afraid that “ just friends” was doomed to fail from its inception.

 

* * *

 

 _Four_ _Years_ _Ago_

 

Bruce was wearing full uniform, his cowl up, his entire body hidden by layers of armor. His pale face was as inscrutable as usual, his cheeks shadowed by salt-and-pepper stubble. His cape swept the ground, making him look larger, more intimidating when he loomed in the dark, and he held her baby in his arms.

“Did you call me over here to ask me what you want for your birthday next month, Bruce?”

He looked not at her, but at John, who had fallen asleep. Surrounded by black Kevlar, the baby looked odd in his soft blue onesie printed with little brown birds, the long lashes he’d inherited from Dick fluttering against his chubby cheeks.

“So the Joker’s dead.”

“Yeah. We were all there after Harley killed him this morning.”

Bruce hmmed. John squirmed slightly in his sleep.

It was a cold January night, the moon big and bright and full, casting the Wayne Manor grounds in silver and blue. Their family was in high spirits from the events of the morning, enough to have a cheerful impromptu dinner together before most of them headed out on patrol; Jason, the happiest and most content of them all, was staying at home a little longer to help out Alfred with the cleaning up.

“But you and Jason were there before we were.”

“And?”

“I just want to say...”

That he’d seen through their flimsy excuses, that he wanted the truth? The truth, that she’d beaten him to a pulp with her fists for threatening her family? That she’d forbidden Jason from finishing the job himself and losing his family’s trust, because the last thing she wanted was for him to be ostracized from the community again, to lose anyone else, especially her little brother, to that monster? But that the two of them had willingly let him die by not stopping Harley, by turning him over to her, when her intent to avenge herself was so obvious? Would Bruce forgive that?

“Do you want the truth? The truth is that your son deserves a place in this family,” she said forcefully. “And I don’t appreciate you interrogating me like you suspect something, like you don’t believe that.”

Now he looked at her, his eye-slits narrowing. They may have been standing in the middle of the living room with the lights on, but he still looked the way he did when he was on the streets and someone wasn’t cooperating.

She wasn’t intimidated one whit.

“If _I’m_ a part of your family, Bruce, then all the others are too. Every one of those kids has earned their place here and then some. And furthermore —”

“I know.”

She was taken aback.

“You do?”

“Of course I know.” His eye-slits remained narrowed, but he rocked his arms slightly, making sure John stayed peacefully asleep. “Barbara, if all the things Jason did when he was fresh out of the pit, then first became Red Hood, couldn’t make me stop caring about him, nothing could make me stop caring about him or any of them.” He paused, while she regarded him. “But...”

“But what do you want me to say, Bruce?” She didn’t drop eye contact. “Do you want me to say that we’re the ones who bashed his brains out in the name of vengeance? Do you want me to say that we didn’t lay a hand on him, that though we protested Harley forced us out so we couldn’t stop her?”

“Would either of those things be the truth?”

“No. But do you believe that? What do you believe, Bruce?”

“I believe that you didn’t kill him.” His expression flickered slightly. “I would prefer to have heard  _exactly_ what happened from you, but what I wanted to say is...it’s important to me that you two, of all people, could have killed him yourselves and didn’t. I doubt it was because you realized the sanctity of his life,” he said rather dryly, “but either way, in both of your cases, your people were more important to you than taking your revenge.”

Barbara started. Bruce dipped his head slightly.

“And if I hadn’t wanted both of you in my family before, I would’ve then, knowing that. I...” He cleared his throat awkwardly; it was clear that it was hard to get out. “Knowing that, I can’t think of anyone better to be married to my son.”

Warmth flooded her chest; she pressed a hand to her mouth, momentarily overcome.

“B...” she said after a moment, “I...I appreciate that. But see, my family is my justice, and my revenge. The happiness I take in my life, the people who love me, along with the fact that he meant nothing to me, that he had no more effect on how I feel... _that’s_ my revenge. Nothing feels better than knowing that someone who hurt you is never going to hurt you or your loved ones ever again.”

He nodded.

“Even so. I admire you for your healing, for your strength of mind, Barbara. I hope that you understand.”

“I do, Bruce. I do. And I hope you get there someday too.”

They regarded each other for a while longer, suspicion having turned to peace, to enjoying one another’s company.

Which was when Jason came sauntering over in his raggedy jeans and his _Down_ _With_ _The_ _System_ t-shirt, a dish towel flung over his shoulder. His curly hair had gotten longer since he’d adopted his daughters three months prior, and he had to brush his white streak out of glittering green eyes. Alfred followed not far behind, pausing at the doorway, expression full of understanding and quiet happiness.

“What’s good, sister? And you too, legal guardian,” Jason asked jokingly, wiping his hands on the dish towel. He was light and unburdened, in the best place he’d been since he was fifteen.

But he was still shocked when Bruce handed her back the baby, moved forward and enveloped him in a hug.

“I love you, son.”

A few seconds passed.

“Okay,” Jason squeaked, which would’ve sounded funny coming from such a big man, except that she saw how rapidly he blinked, how his breath came out in a shudder. Then he hugged Bruce back, tentatively at first, then genuinely, and by then he was really crying.

Barbara cradled her own son, smiling to herself. John slowly blinked his blue eyes open, stretching his small hands towards her face, looking up at her with unmitigated joy.

* * *

 

She didn’t remember falling asleep in her wheelchair in her sons’ bedroom, but that was where she awoke to small hands squeezing her own. She blinked awake, a crick in her neck, her back and breasts sore, her skin itching, heart still heavy from the previous night’s thoughts.

“Mama? What’re you doing here?” John asked.

“Oh, I...” She blinked the sleep out of her eyes, and her sons’ faces swam into focus before her. Gray early-morning light seeped through the big windows, and they were both still in their pajamas. Troy still had his Batman toy in hand, and he regarded her with a lot of graveness for a toddler. “I just missed you, wanted to spend some time with you, since your dad had you all to himself yesterday.”

“Okay, Mama.”

She kissed both their soft heads.

“Let’s get you two ready for daycare.”

“Okay, Mama.”

Some minutes later, they were both dressed, teeth brushed and hair combed, and she’d managed to maneuver their tiny feet into sneakers. Then they both darted into the kitchen for breakfast, where they found Dick fresh from walking the dog, drinking his coffee and staring through the window with a faraway expression.

The little boys scrabbled around for cereal, and she moved up to her husband, putting her hand on his arm. He started, looking down.

“Babs?”

“Dick, is something wrong?”

“ _You’re_ asking _me_ that?” He lowered his voice so their children wouldn’t hear. “You haven’t fallen asleep in the boys’ room since Troy was a baby. Especially not fully dressed; you look like you barely slept at all. Is our girl keeping you up again, or is this about your mom?”

She automatically bristled.

“I’m not going to talk about my mom, Dick. I’m going to take our children to daycare, go to the doctor, run my errands, and do my work, and if you want to talk to me, we can talk about that.”

“Do _not_ snap at me.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m on your side, remember? _Don’t_ take this out on me.”

She bit back a second retort, instead going through the motions of filling the coffee pot with decaf. Dick’s shoulders slumped, he sighed in frustration.

“Look, I love you. I _am_ on your side. Whenever you’re ready to talk, you can talk to me.”

Then he went over to sit in between their sons. At the same time, their daughter kicked viciously at the inside of her ribs, almost like she was reacting.

Barbara took a deep breath, trying to square her shoulders, trying not to look or sound like how she felt.

Then the com she’d never taken out of her ear the night before beeped.

“Oracle here.”

“Hey honey, it’s Canary.”

Her spirits actually lifted a bit. 

“What do you want to talk about, Canary?”

In the background, John dropped a handful of Cheerios on the floor for Ari, who started happily licking the formerly-clean floor. Odie clambered up onto Troy’s lap; Troy started petting him and the cat purred loudly, seeming not to notice that Troy was smearing Cheerio dust all over his fur.

“Wanted to let you know that I got an extra couple days off work, and I’ll be in Gotham by tomorrow morning. I told you I was going to get the first look at your daughter, don’t test me.”

Barbara couldn’t help but smile, even wanly.

“Which reminds me: is this finally going to be the kid where you tell me what her name is going to be?”

“No, nice try. You’re just going to have to wait until she’s born, just like you did with her brothers.”

“Damn it.” Dinah still sounded cheerful. “But no matter what, shit, I can’t wait to see that kid.”

“I know.” She paused. “Di, I gotta take the kids to daycare, and then I’ve got a ton of other shit to do, but I’ll try to call you again before you get to Gotham.”

“Can’t wait to see you, honey.”

“You too.”

She clicked off, then looked back at her family. Her sons, John dangerously close to upsetting the milk and Troy getting cat hair on his clothes, both thankfully ignorant of their mother’s inner turmoil. But her husband, fingering his police badge with one hand, kept giving her concerned looks out of the corner of his eye when he thought she couldn’t see.

She sighed again, then rolled over to the kitchen island. Her feelings were still jumbled around inside her like kaleidoscope glass; she feared that if she gave them voice she would start screaming. But she still took her love’s hand, interlocking their fingers, feeling his calloused, warm palm against hers. He was so familiar; she knew him, she trusted him, clutching him like a lifeline.

He looked at her again, and his expression softened. He squeezed her hand, silently trying to comfort her, while their children remained content, happy, unaware of anything but their parents’ love.

 

* * *

 

 _Seventeen_ _Years_ _Ago_

 

Her cell phone rang in the middle of the night. She wasn’t asleep anyway, so she fumbled it up and held it to her ear after barely three rings.

“Babsy?”

“Daddy?” She shifted on her dorm bed, trying to keep her voice low. “It’s almost one in the morning. Why are you calling?”

“I’m up late on the case of this Scarecrow person —” She could almost see him rubbing his eyes under his glasses, the way they both did, “— and I figured you’d be up late too, studying.”

Barbara glanced to her side.

“Yep. Studying. Did you want to check up on me, Dad?”

“I did. You worried about midterms?”

“Dad,” she laughed, “midterms aren’t for a month. You can just that say you miss me.”

“Barbara...”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, apartment hunting’s not going so hot.” She brushed some hair out of her eyes. “I dunno if I’m going to be able to make enough money or find an affordable place by the time I graduate, so it looks like I’ll be moving back in with you.”

“You don’t mind that?” He sounded surprised. “I was under the impression that it’s not cool for young women to live with their dads.”

“Those other young women just don’t have dads they like.”

“So it seems.” His voice became warm. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind you moving back in after graduation. At least those other dads have a few extra years with their girls before they go off to college.”

She paused.

“Dad, do you regret sending me to school early?”

“What?”

“I know you hate not being able to protect me. If you weren’t worried, you wouldn’t have plied me with the pepper spray and rape whistle when I first left. Plus you never complained about my wanting to learn martial arts instead of ballet.”

“I never understood the appeal of ballet, to be honest. But seriously Barbara, of course I worried. I’m glad you want to go into library work instead of something that makes me lose sleep at night.” She felt a slight lump form in her throat; she decided not to tell him right then about wanting to be a cop too. “But no. I don’t regret sending you to college early. You make your old dad proud, Babsy. I don’t know where you got that brain from, but I’m glad you got it.”

She took a deep breath.

“It would’ve driven me crazy, not being able to protect a kid,” she admitted.

“Don’t worry about that yet. You’re only seventeen.” Though he said it dismissively, she knew how much he wanted grandkids someday; so much he could hardly stand it. She had to take another deep breath at the idea. “So, speaking of which, you got a boyfriend yet? Or is no one good enough for you, which frankly, sounds like the more likely option.”

“No, I absolutely do not have a boyfriend. Everything’s good, don’t worry.”

“Worry less, you mean. Good night, Barbara.”

“‘Night, Dad.”

When she hung up, the girl next to her lifted her head.

“I thought your relationship with your father was too good for you to lie to each other.”

“I didn’t lie to him, Kat.”

Katarina smirked faintly, sitting up all the way, stretching and shaking back her tangled blonde hair, exposing her breasts so that Barbara swallowed hard, the bare, flawless white skin shining like pearl in the moonlight. Barbara’s roommate was in Metropolis with friends for the rest of the weekend, so that the circumstances were perfect, but even after Kat had talked herself into the dorm room for another exciting debate, Barbara still hadn’t expected...anything that had happened next.

She was still in shock, if she was being honest with herself. Shocked that she had wanted this so much, that even the fear prompting her to be “just friends” had fallen away, if only for forty-five minutes or so.

“You didn’t mention me,” Katarina pointed out, stretching her arms out, catlike. “You didn’t even contradict the idea of having a boyfriend.”

“I _could_ have had a boyfriend.” Now the shock of having lost her virginity was fading, to be replaced with annoyance. She didn’t know why she was annoyed. Sleeping with a girl did seem to kind of throw the whole possibility of having a boyfriend out the window...didn’t it?

“No, you couldn’t have.” Her icy blue eyes flashed. “No self-respecting lesbian would _ever_ sleep with a man. You’re just young, Barbara, you’ll come around.”

“You’re literally the same age as me, don’t talk down —” She took a deep breath. “Look, my not telling my father has nothing to do with you, Kat. I’m just not ready to come out to him, okay?”

“Oh, grow a spine, Gordon.” Katarina flopped back down. “You sound like any other liberal: mealy-mouthed and sentimental and not willing to take any real action.”

“Then why the fuck did you sleep with me?” Barbara snapped. Then, before she could stop herself: “We don’t agree on anything, I know, but I thought we at least respected each other. If who I am disgusts you so much, why lower the great brilliant patriotic Katarina Armstrong to licking out poor stupid little Barbara Gordon’s cunt?”

Kat’s eyes grew very wide; her brows shooting up.

“I guess you do have a spine after all.” She sounded appreciative. “And for the record, I slept with you because I like you. I’ve never had an equal before.”

Barbara felt mollified. But she still refused to tell Kat that she liked her back.

She wasn’t ready for that, when even after the praise, a tiny cynical part of her wondered if Kat would still like her if Barbara wasn’t her equal — whether she was worse, or whether she was _better_.

Another part of her was just plain terrified of saying it. Of her father’s potential disappointment, of being rejected by the only one she, up until then, had had guaranteed love from. And, speaking of her father, of being in a real relationship, of being committed to someone she was so likely to argue with. No matter how much she liked and admired Kat’s skill.

“Good to know,” was all she said, flopping over on her side and staring at her nightstand. She knew Kat was waiting to hear her say it back. She was expecting the huff of irritation and disappointment when it came.

“You may have a spine, but you don’t know how to use it, sometimes.”

The bed creaked, and she knew that Katarina had taken her leave.

 

* * *

 

 _Four_ _Years_ _Ago_

 

Jason had just submitted the adoption papers for the twins, the family was in high spirits, and Barbara was minding the aftermath of an attack on Washington D.C.

“They barely made it past the White House foyer,” she reported. “Several injuries, but nobody inside was killed.”

There were a few sighs of relief from the Leaguers on the other end.

“Why am I not surprised that you have cameras in the White House?” Cyborg remarked, which made her smirk.

“The White House has cameras in the White House, Victor. I just tap into them from time to time.”

“Alright, I’m officially scared of you,” murmured Green Lantern.

“Join the club, Jessica.”

She only just had time to laugh before the wailing on her end began.

Immediately, she whipped her head around.

Snow drifted down outside the Clock Tower windows, gray winter clouds low above the skyline, and John’s crib was out in the living room from where she’d wheeled it out. But her son was standing up in it instead of playing, throwing his head back and crying.

“Oracle, the FBI agent we talked to is worried that their system was compromised,” piped up Hawkwoman. “Is there any way you could comb through their security, make sure it wasn’t broken into?”

“Yes, I —” She looked over her shoulder, frantically running through reasons in her mind that her baby could be crying. She’d fed him at the usual time, changed his diaper only an hour ago, he had his blanket and toys, he hadn’t seemed sick or feverish or anything... “Does the FBI have good reason to suspect that?”

“Yeah, apparently the bad guys had another hacker with them.”

“I’ll go over their system right away, see what —”

“Ma,” her son wailed. “Mama...”

“They’re really freaking out over here, Oracle.”

_One minute, baby, one minute, gotta make sure these bad guys didn’t — one minute —_

“Shut up!” she yelled, cutting off the Leaguers’ fussing and dulling her son’s cries to pitiful whimpers.

Immediately, she hated herself.

“Barbara?” Troia interrupted gently. “Was he crying?”

“I can — Donna, you don’t have to —”

“But I want to,” she said, her tone shifting from a fellow hero to a fellow mother. “Robbie used to cry like that when he got pinched by his seatbelt buckle or fell off his rocking horse or something like that. It’s probably not serious, but he still needs you.”

“But we —” someone else started to say; Donna shushed them.

Barbara rolled over to the crib, and her son immediately cringed away from her, which hurt far, far worse than getting hit by a supervillain. But she took his tiny hand in hers, and sure enough, he’d been hurt, just a little bit; a shard of wood from the crib had gotten embedded in the soft palm.

She plucked the splinter out, then lifted John out of his crib, rubbing her hand down his back. Soon, his whimpers died down.

She turned her attention back to her com, switching it from conference mode into one-on-one.

“Thanks, Donna.”

“Least I could do for you two. I know how hard it is to juggle our lifestyle and parenting.”

Barbara paused for a little too long.

“It’s not that hard.”

“Barbara. Trust me. I know.”

Donna’s tone gave her pause again. She thought about the woman she was talking to: how nearly all of her romantic relationships had ended, how her marriage had crashed and burned (Dick, Wally, and Roy _loved_ to yell about “that bitch-ass cradle-robbing asswipe Terry Long”), how she’d lost custody of her son, then the car crash that had nearly taken him from her altogether. She’d been lucky that Robbie had survived, let alone that she gotten the chance to take custody of him once and for all after how badly Terry had painted her to the courts. She was _lucky_ to have her child.

But in light of all the terrible things that had happened to her, all her lives and all her suffering, she was just as lucky to still be Troia. She was proud to be who she was, an Amazon, a hero.

“Donna, you know I respect you, but I really need to check up on the FBI right now.”

“And because I respect you, I’ll drop it for now,” Donna replied, but she didn’t sound happy about it.

Still holding John with one hand, she clicked back on, swiftly moving through the system. Her baby was oddly rigid under her touch, as if he were still afraid that she would yell again.

“All clear,” she reported at last. “Troia, you can tell the rest of the League that the rogue hacker is completely incompetent; they barely made it through the first layer of security, let alone to the classified files.”

“Okay, good to know.”

Then the words fell out.

“Donna, wait.”

“Yes...?”

She moved in again, and John looked worried...but this time, she kissed him. He finally relaxed, but it didn’t assuage her guilt at all.

“Thank you. Sometimes I wouldn’t know how to deal with some things at all except for the people around me who also dealt with it.”

“I feel the same way.” Donna’s voice had become gentle again. “Don’t worry, I’ve had lots of practice.”

“So I gathered.”

She finally signed off, and John clutched her shirt. The snow was coming down harder, and she shivered a bit, glancing out at the frozen metal skyline.

“Sweetheart, look at me.”

He did, staring up at her very like his father did when he was vulnerable. He scrubbed at his eyes for a moment, drawing attention to the patterns of brown freckles starring his cheeks that he’d inherited from her.

“I’ll try not to yell like that again, okay?”

He dipped his head.

She kissed him again, holding him close, frustrated, and hoping that she wouldn’t lose control of herself like that again.

 

* * *

 

Her doctor smiled at her.

“Everything looks good for next week’s surgery, Barbara.”

“I know.” She sat up again, albeit with difficulty, wiping the jelly away and pulling her hospital gown back into place. It was snowing again outside the windows of the obstetrics wing; coming down in gusts, billows of white blown against the tall cityscape.

“I know you know. You’re getting really good at this, Barbara.” Dr. Georgetta King, ten years older than her and about as world-weary, shunted off her gloves, switching off the sonogram machine.

She said nothing in response. The doctor peered over at her, brown eyes sparking under her wire-rimmed glasses; she brushed several of her silvering cornrows back over her shoulder.

“You okay?”

“Just tired, that’s all.”

Dr. King extended a hand to help her back into her wheelchair, but she brushed it away. It was harder than usual, but she managed.

“Still excited for your little girl?” she prompted gently.

“Of course. I just...”

Dr. King nodded.

“Course. It’s never easy having a baby, but I get it, you already understand boys, but girls come with their own sets of difficulties. It’s okay to be worried.”

She swallowed hard, wondering if Dr. King knew exactly how right she was.

“Barbara?”

“It’ll be okay. I’ll figure it out.”

Her doctor nodded, running a hand over her long braids.

“Good for you. Alright, keep taking care of yourself, and I’ll see you on Wednesday for the surgery.”

She got dressed hurriedly, then wheeled out of the obstetrics wing with her head high. The other women waiting gave her quizzical glances, which she ignored, earning herself several worried and annoyed expressions. Her jacket seemed to find its way into her hand and around her body, her favorite green scarf wrapping around her neck and trailing down her back, mingling with the long strands of red.

Outside Martha Wayne Memorial Hospital, the snow was still coming down. Around her, she saw Gotham slowly being buried in white, as though the steel and concrete was a coffin being covered by wet earth, as though the dirty streets were being wiped clean.

She sat there for a moment, pedestrians knocking into her wheelchair and glaring as though her paralysis was _their_ problem, looking like black-clad vultures in their long coats and hunched shoulders. Then she reached up and clicked her com, patching through to the Watchtower.

“Oracle?” Superman asked. “Is everything okay?”

“Clark, hi. Would you please remind the League that the members of the Birds of Prey have the next ten days off? And several members of Bludhaven’s Vietnamese mafia have moved out to Metropolis and opened a collection of gambling and fighting rings; could you or Lois please get some evidence on them when you have time?”

“I’ll call Lois before my shift ends and ask her what her schedule looks like,” he promised. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Tell Diana from me that I loved her statement yesterday, that I’ll take a look at Veronica Cale’s under-the-table operations as soon as I have a moment, and then please post a notice to the bulletin board to keep in mind that I can see what people look up when they get bored on monitor duty.”

“I don’t want to know,” Clark decided. “And...are you okay, Barbara? You seem a little distracted.”

She took a deep breath, thinking about her stepmother, her protégées, her sons, her daughter. The snowflakes came down hard, clinging to her eyelashes, frosting her hair; the cold air seemed to scorch her lungs.

“Just something I guess I need to do. No matter how much I don’t want to.”

“What is it?”

“It’s not something I can talk about, Clark.”

“But Barbara —”

She hung up, taking another breath, then moving back into the driver’s seat of her car. She squared her shoulders, her fingers growing tight on the steering wheel.

Both Steph and Cass were wrong. What she needed to do, what she would do, was to just say no. She would say no succinctly and quickly, and then it would be over.

She would _not_ allow the feelings boiling in her chest to pour out.

 

* * *

 

 _Sixteen_ _Years_ _Ago_

 

She didn’t think it was possible to feel any angrier or more hurt. But that was before she saw the object of her rage standing on her father’s doorstep, blond head held high.

Barbara stormed out of her car, slamming the door behind her and marching right up to Katarina.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing here?” she snarled.

“You’ve always spent Sundays with your dad for as long as I’ve known you.” Kat’s blue eyes were even colder than usual. “You’re too predictable to avoid me, Barbara.”

Barbara shoved her hard in the chest, nearly making her fall off the steps.

“If you’re here to apologize, save it.”

“Oh my God, grow up. All I did was trip you.” Kat regained her footing. “So you lost a race for once —”

“I was at full sprint!” Barbara shouted. “It’s not that you cost me the race, you jealous, selfish, spoiled _brat_ , it’s that you could’ve permanently injured me! I completely ripped open my knees and palms on the track and I’m _lucky_ that that was all! That you didn’t break my wrists or my jaw! And for _what_ , Katarina? Because you couldn’t stand that I’m a better athlete than you?”

She’d struck a nerve. Katarina’s composure finally slipped, and her coolly pretty face twisted up, ugly with fury.

“You’re pathetic,” Katarina sneered, her tone as cruel as ice. “You’re a child, crying at the world for being unfair. You think you’re the Batman himself, on some crusade to save everyone. You’re just a whiny little daddy’s girl, and your precious crusade won’t last five minutes because you’re too scared to tell your father his precious girl is a dyke.”

“Oh, and that’s a problem for you, because _you’d_ step over someone’s corpse for a tax break, because no matter how rich he is, _your_ father never gave you the time of day,” Barbara snarled, perversely satisfied at how Kat flinched slightly. She forgot that she was in the middle of the suburbs, that they were undoubtedly attracting stares. “Good to know what you really thought of me, because you woke me up to who you really are. You’re power-crazed, arrogant, greedy...I want nothing to do with you ever again.”

Katarina came back with a vengeance.

“Going to let some man screw you now instead, like the little pretender you are? Or probably not. I doubt you could keep _anyone_. I don’t see how anyone could ever love you.”

Barbara turned away from her, hardening her heart to the girl she’d used to admire so much.

“Coward.”

With a flash of blonde hair, Katarina left. Barbara steeled herself to never see her again.

It was then that the door opened.

“Babs?”

She wheeled in shock and horror. Her father stood there in his jeans and loafers, the Sunday paper in his hand, looking at her like he was reassessing everything he thought about her.

“You told me...that she was your friend. Are you really...” He hesitated, as though it was hard for him to say. “Are you a lesbian?”

Barbara swallowed hard, hating Katarina even more.

“I don’t want to talk about this outside, Dad.”

The door closed behind them, but she still needed a minute to get the truth out.

“I don’t know. Okay? I honestly don’t know. I mean, I like guys. I’ve always known that I like guys. But I like girls too. Yeah. And everyone says that I have to either be a lesbian in denial and/or faking it or a straight girl just experimenting. But I, I don’t...” She took a deep breath. “I don’t know what I am yet. But I do know that I’m not what anyone says I am. Especially not Katarina Armstrong.”

Jim still looked a little lost, a little unmoored. But he didn’t yell, didn’t throw her out of the house. He just nodded.

“I’m sorry that she was the first person you dated,” was all he said. “But why did you feel like you needed to lie to me?”

“I...I didn’t...I could hardly admit that I had those feelings to myself.”

Her father placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed, then rubbed, taking some of the tension away.

“You’ll find someone who loves you,” he promised. “Really loves you. Some great guy...or, um, girl. And if they don’t treat you right, this time they’ll have to go through me.”

She managed a smile at her father’s acceptance. Because of him, she didn’t have the heart to tell the whole truth: that the idea of someone loving her, really loving her, and her loving them back, sounded as terrifying as having to face Katarina again someday.

 

* * *

 

_Four Years Ago_

 

_“You arrogant little bitch,” snarled Python. His impeccable white outfit was in tatters, his tufty pale hair matted, his gray eyes narrowed in hate. “What makes you think you’re better than any of us, hm? Because you have people you love? Well, they never seem to stick, do they. How long is it until these ones leave you again?”_

_“I lost my daughter!” shrieked Calculator. His eyes were crazed, wide, unfocused, reflecting the madness of being trapped inside his worst memories. “I lost her as much as I lost my son! You took her away from me, as easily as you pushed away your best friends and the love of your life, as easily as you were cold to young girls who needed you. You could’ve stopped Stephanie’s and Cassandra’s hurting, you could’ve provided for Charlie, you could’ve saved Wendy from being crippled like you! But did you?”_

_“Where were you when anyone needed you?” asked Savant. He looked better than the others, but as she saw him now, it seemed that his anger had never truly left. Creote clung to his side, desperate to alleviate his lover’s pain. “Do you ever really help anyone, or do you just shuck them off as soon as it’s convenient to you? As soon as your own feelings get to be too much?”_

_“Thanks for doing that, for driving Dick into my hands,” rumbled Blockbuster. The front of his suit was covered in blood from Tarantula’s bullet. “I_ loved _his pain. I watched Catalina rape him from beyond the grave and I laughed, because your hurt feelings drove him away, right into her arms. Oh, and even before that, thanks for allowing your best friend, always so devoted to you, to replace you in my captivity, for not lifting a finger to stop her. She’s always been hurting for you, hasn’t she?”_

 _“You don’t deserve either of them,” said Spy Smasher. In death, executed for treason, Katarina looked even colder, the lethal injection having tinted her skin sickly blue, matching her eyes. “You don’t deserve_ any _of them. Did you ever tell your teammates what we used to be, Barbara? Or could they have figured out that you were never good enough to be mine, let alone theirs? Look at how you disregard those who love you most. You never deserved them. You’re a coward, and you always have been.”_

_They dissipated into smoke before she could strike at them, and in the void, she heard cruel, cold laughter echoing around her._

_“Don’t worry! At least,” came the voice of the Joker from all around her, “you were good enough for_ me _!”_

_All around her came the bright, blinding light of a camera flash._

Barbara woke up with a start, her hands clutching the blankets. Her breath shuddered; her heart raced painfully.

She was safe from them, she reminded herself. Savant and Creote were reformed, the others were either dead or locked away. She was safe from them.

But not from her thoughts.

She lay back down, swallowing hard. Dick was still asleep next to her, peaceful and content. In the next room, their child slept safely, with two superhero parents to protect him. Her com rested on the nightstand, where she could call any of her family at any time. Any of her friends would always be there for her.

But she didn’t want to voice those thoughts to her loved ones.

She lay back down, trying to close her eyes. Trying to push those thoughts away. Trying to keep those old fears and guilts from clawing back up her throat.

Sirens wailed in the distance. The Bat-Signal lit up the night, proclaiming it as their family’s, while Barbara tried to calm herself down, refusing to give credence to her pain. She was working through it, she promised herself. Trying to redeem herself for her mistakes.

So why, even after all that time and progress, did that promise ring hollow to herself? What still stood in her way?

 

* * *

 

The Gardner Fox Hotel was fairly unassuming, little larger than the average Holiday Inn. Nothing too fancy. But the green-and-white foyer was quite nice, decorated tastefully with potted plants and cheerful paintings, the bellhops and clerk all perfectly friendly.

“She’s in her room now,” the clerk, a dark-eyed middle-aged woman, informed her, offering a kind smile. “You’re her daughter, you say? She’s very lucky.”

Barbara smiled back, trying to hide the bitter taste that had welled up in her mouth at those words.

“Thank you.”

The bitter taste lingered as she made her way up. As she approached, the door to Room 1967 seemed to loom before her, tall and imposing. Seemed so much taller than it probably really was. Like she was still a child.

Barbara took a breath and knocked.

The door opened.

Wearing a dress the same shade as the winter sky, her mother looked even more tired than she’d had the previous day, reminding Barbara of how she’d often looked around their house. The color wasn’t doing her any favors, making her look drawn and exacerbating the gray in her brown hair, which was also alternately frizzy and lank, like she hadn’t washed or brushed it. Her sunken eyes roved down, landing at last on her daughter.

“Went and saw James today, didn’t you.”

“He’s...doing better,” Barbara Sr. said, like she almost believed it. Then she straightened. “But...do you really want to talk to me?”

“I do.”

Her mother nodded and backed away, letting her daughter roll into the hotel room. The door clicked shut behind them; Barb walked over and sat down on the bed, while Barbara faced her, folding her hands in her lap.

“I hope you’ve made the mature decision.”

She told herself she would not get angry. This would be quick and painless, and then she wouldn’t have to think about it again.

“Oh, the mature decision? What, to you, is the mature decision, huh?”

The sunken eyes narrowed.

“Still snapping at me like a snarky little girl with big aspirations, I see.”

She would _not_ get angry.

“What — why are you bringing that — no, screw that. Why was that even a problem for you? Why did you always have a problem with my dreaming? Was it because you didn’t want to worry about what I was doing, or was it just because you wanted an excuse to yell at me?”

Barb exhaled sharply through her nose.

“Your father’s job put my child’s life in danger when he was just a baby, Barbara. Your dreams were dangerous too. The last thing I wanted was for you to eventually go down the same path he did, putting yourself or other people at risk for the sake of some ideal or other.”

“You make it sound like you actually cared about what happened to me.” The words spilled out before she could stop them, and she chided herself even as her hands shook. She was _not_ going to get angry...

Her mother gave her a look that mingled despair and anger and exasperation. She knew that look so, so well; those were her mother’s favorite emotions for her, after all. 

“Why, Barbara? Why have you always been like this?”

Rage burst through her chest like lava.

“WHY HAVE I ALWAYS BEEN LIKE THIS? I’VE BEEN LIKE THIS BECAUSE OF _YOU_!”

Her roar of fury took herself by surprise, let alone her mother. Barbara Sr. was so shocked she nearly fell off the bed, her look turning to shock and confused hurt.

That her mother was surprised by her anger only added to it.

“Twenty. One. Years.” She slammed her fist against the wall with each word, making it rattle, making one of the paintings cower and crash to the ground, making the furniture shudder. “Twenty-one _goddamn_ years! That’s how long I’ve gone without a mother! You fucking _abandoned_ me! You turned your back on me when I was _thirteen_ _goddamn_ _years_ _old_ , and you said to my face that you never wanted to see me again. And you think you can just waltz back into my life and claim rights to a relationship with me, with my children? You don’t — you don’t fucking deserve to even _look_ at my children. You’re not worthy of them.”

“Barbara —” Her mother got to her feet. “Stop screaming and carrying on and listen to me. I was —”

“You were my mother. That’s what you were.” Barbara spat the words. “‘Your child’...you act like James is your only child. Yeah, I know about the personal information you wrote down on the police report you filed when you went to see Maggie. Children: 1. That’s what you wrote down. Wow, I know you never wanted me, but that’s a whole new level, huh?”

“I didn’t —”

“Don’t lie to me!” she shouted. “Don’t you fucking stand there and lie to my face! You told Dad, loud and clear so that I couldn’t miss it, that you never wanted me! Ain’t that a bitch about having an unwanted daughter with an eidetic memory, huh? I remember _everything_. Every single thing you said to me; I know now, you didn’t start abandoning me when you left. You started abandoning me the minute I walked through Dad’s door! Not only did you not want me, you were never afraid to express that, how much you resented having me around, how I could never do right in your eyes. What the hell do you think that does to a kid?”

“I was trying to help you.” Her mother’s eyes were even darker with tears, the silvery lines of salt welling up above the dark shadows, the crow’s feet. “Trying to steer you right. You were so wild, so disobedient, you would only ever listen to your father —”

“Yeah, no fucking shit!” Barbara bellowed. “He was the only person in that house who actually gave a damn about me! Who didn’t think I was just an inconvenience! He was the _only_ _one_ who _loved_ me! Of _course_ he was my favorite parent! Did you ever think of that, or were you too busy victimizing yourself, weeping and putting on your scorned-woman act, while boys were yelling horrible sexual shit at my twelve-year-old self and Dad was going and getting shot at every night?”

“Did they really —?”

“What do you care?” she snarled. “Really. What do you care about bad shit that happened to me? When I was eleven and that high schooler slapped my ass and I dislocated his arm you got mad at _me_ for causing a scene in public. Why would you care about anything else?

You didn’t care when other girls laughed at me because I didn’t have a mom to teach me to wear makeup or dress myself, you didn’t care when I was told that people like me needed to change who they were or get raped and killed, you didn’t care when my first love nearly permanently injured me, you didn’t care whenever I was going through a breakup with anyone else I loved, you didn’t care when people told me again and again that disabled people weren’t meant to be loved in the first place, you didn’t care when Dad or my in-laws were getting hurt and I didn’t know if they were going to make it, you didn’t care when I had to hold my best friend all night when she lost her daughter and when she had to leave her husband.

You didn’t care for the five minutes it would’ve taken to send a message asking if I was going to be okay when that monster invaded my home, shot me, raped me, and took pictures of me lying naked in a pool of my own blood to show to my father.”

Her mother stared at her in horror.

“You regret missing the good stuff? _Tough_ _shit_. You didn’t care about anything bad that happened to me, so you don’t _get_ to regret missing my wedding or the births of my children.”

Barbara Sr. was openly crying now. Her daughter had no sympathy for her; the rage wasn’t dissipating, only becoming colder, tinted with disgust as well as her old pain and anguish.

_How can she still think of herself as the victim now?_

“You and Dad always fighting, I...” She punched the wall again, her knuckles screaming. “How the hell was I supposed to know what love was? To want love, to not be afraid of giving and committing myself to someone, after seeing the risks of it right in front of my face?”

“But you —” Her mother’s voice was subdued, and Barbara steamrollered right over it. The words kept coming, from a place she hated to talk about, from a place she’d refused to even acknowledge at times.

“And you? Being the mother you were? I understood right from the start how parents fuck up their children, especially if the children are less than what they wanted. Everyone wants sons, but daughters? Daughters can never really make it, right? No matter what, daughters are always too loud, too demanding, too smart, not pretty or sweet enough, too much for their mothers, not wanted, never enough. You taught me that. How do you think I f — can you even imagine the burden of knowing that, knowing that I, like you, am going to be the mother of a daughter?”

Her mother kept staring, the tears still streaking her pallid cheeks. The baby girl in her womb seemed to have gone unusually still.

“Maybe you _have_ changed, Mom, I don’t know. Maybe you _could_ be good for my kids.” Barbara’s voice was cold, and poisoned with bitterness. “But maybe _I_ haven’t changed at all.”

“Babs...”

“Don’t cry. Don’t pull that shit. If I ever felt sorry for you, I sure as hell don’t anymore.”

She rolled back to the door, wrenching it open.

“Think about what I said, Barbara Kean.”

She yanked it shut behind her, the _SLAM_ rattling the hotel walls.

The trip back out of the hotel was a blur. She didn’t know quite what her expression looked like, but older women kept giving her concerned looks all the way through, and the kind clerk tried to ask her if she was alright...

...She kept it together all the way to her car.

Then, with the windows rolled up and the doors locked, Barbara, throat raw, exhausted and horrified at herself for revealing so much, buried her face in her hands and took a long, shuddering breath.

And she began to cry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you’ve all been having a great summer, and an equally great Pride Month. 
> 
> (Extra warnings for domestic abuse, threats of fetal death, graphic violence, and mentions of pedophilia, but no actual CSA or fetal death occurs, I promise.)

_Sixteen Years Ago_

 

She had never, never in her life experienced anything even _close_ to being Batgirl.

The freedom of the mask. The power of the symbol on her chest. The satisfaction of beating bad guys. The confidence she gained by intimidating some, gaining the love of others, by running as a superhero. The sheer thrill, the sheer _joy_ of falling, of flying.

Nobody could tell her what to do anymore. Not her father. Not anyone she met. Not even the Batman.

But it wasn’t perfect.

“Hey look, it’s the Bat-chick! The Bat-chick’s back!”

A chorus of whistles and shouts followed.

Barbara groaned in disgust.

These second-rate henchmen had cowered in terror when she’d come to this sketchy dive bar with Bruce the previous week. Now, they didn’t even get off bar or the pool table, and worse, more than a few of them had begun leering at her breasts in her tight uniform, whooping and catcalling in her direction.

“Give us a smile, Bat-girlie.”

“C’mon, just a smile. Batman’s glare don’t look good on a pretty little girl like you.”

“Always loved a cute little redhead.”

“She’s legal, right?”

“‘Course she is, Trent. You think her daddy would let her out after dark, with all these big scary men around?” He blew kisses, thrusting his hips in her direction.

The bartender didn’t even look up from where she was polishing glasses, didn’t say a word in Barbara’s defense. Barbara swallowed down a surge of anger; she couldn’t count on _anyone_ except herself, she repeated internally. Not even other women.

“I need information,” she said at last, wishing her voice were deeper, more commanding. “And you’re going to give it to me. I know that you work for the Riddler. Why does he care about Silver St. Cloud’s art collection? What is he planning?”

“Why don’t you come over here for it, darling? Sit on my lap, maybe spin a little, and I’ll tell you.”

His friend high-fived him.

“Now, that’s no way to speak to a lady.”

The henchmen started.

She didn’t have to look up to know where the owner of that new voice was, but she did anyway, just to glare at him.

Admittedly, he’d been growing on her the last month or so since Bruce had officially hired her. She might even say they were becoming friends. But he still didn’t think she could handle herself without his help.

The henchmen all gawked up at him. The slim little figure perched on a rafter, shrouded in shadows, only his eye-lenses and grinning teeth gleaming in the dark like a demented Cheshire Cat.

“You might want to apologize,” he finished. “Otherwise she might get angry; if she’s not already, of course.”

“Hell no, sweet-tits here is fair game,” said the henchman who’d been asking her for a lap dance, brandishing a pool cue. “Nobody wants you around, kid.”

“Ah, but _I_ want me around.”

Dick leapt from the rafter, turning a somersault midair, and landing neatly on his feet, spreading his arms wide.

Immediately, he had about a dozen gun muzzles pointed at his chest.

The bartender set down her glass and ducked down behind the bar, clearly experienced in this sort of thing.

Barbara groaned in disgust, then straightened back up and cracked her knuckles.

“Alright, well, if you won’t give us the information, we’ll just have to beat it out of you.”

“How?” one man smirked. “There’s fifteen of us and two of you.”

“Yeah,” Dick sighed. “It’s not fair at all.”

Two minutes later, nearly all the henchmen were unconscious or laid out groaning on the floor. The bartender finally emerged, and she went right back to polishing glasses as if nothing had happened.

Barbara bent to one particular moaning, injured man, and grabbed him by the hair, yanking his head back. Dick’s shoulders tightened as she did, and whether it was from disapproval or arousal, it pissed her off equally.

“Still want me to sit on your lap?” she taunted the terrified man. “Now. Tell me what the Riddler’s up to.”

“Crazy bitch...” he whimpered. “Fine, fine, I’ll tell you —”

When he was done, she whacked his face against the bar floor for good measure and stalked out, cape billowing behind her.

Dick followed as she stormed over to her Bat-cycle, and he stood there as she turned on the engine. She straddled the seat, and he still didn’t move.

“Do you have something to say, Robin?”

“I just wanted to ask you if you were okay. Normally, ‘sweet-tits’ alone doesn’t get that much of a negative reaction out of you. Just, y’know, your _usual_ level of anger, not the She-Hulk.”

“Maybe I’m not in the mood to entertain men today,” she snarled. “Including you, kid.”

Dick flinched. But then he came back, eyes narrowed.

“What is your problem?” All traces of lightheartedness and concern were gone from his voice. “I came here to help you, and you’re being mean to me. Actually, you know what, I have _been_ helping you, standing up to Batman for you, insisting you were capable, and when I do, you act like I murdered your grandmother.”

“Forgive me for not thinking that being the subject of your adolescent fantasies is a compliment,” she retorted acidly.

Dick started.

“Is that it? Do you really think that I want you to succeed just because I want to fuck you? Do you really think that?”

“It doesn’t matter what you want. Working with you is fine, I don’t mind working with you, but not if you’re going to act like I can’t take care of myself. Because no matter what you think, I don’t need your help! I’m perfectly capable of doing this job by myself! I didn’t need Batman’s approval, I’ve never needed a man to prop me up, and I especially don’t need _you_!”

He flinched again, hard. But the stubborn little brat didn’t budge. She kind of couldn’t help but marvel at his courage and determination, even grudgingly.

“I’m not those guys in there, Barbara. I’m not whoever made you not trust me.”

She was as startled by the levelness of his voice as she was by his using her real name.

“Just saying it isn’t enough, Dick. You have to live up to what you’re saying.”

He leapt in front of her Bat-cycle, gripping the handlebars.

“What do I have to do to do that? To prove that I like you? Not that I want to fuck you. That I _respect_ you. You don’t like me back the way I like you? Fine, fine, I’m fifteen, you’re eighteen, I get it. But...” His voice became almost plaintive, and surprisingly genuine. “I thought we were friends. That we could _at least_  be friends. Friends don’t treat each other the way you’ve been treating me.”

She wanted to retort. But instead, all her anger dissolved.

Instead, she sighed, leaning hard against the handlebars, almost nose-to-nose with him. Up close, she absently noted the shade of brown that his skin was, the little pink scars against it, the line of his nose, the fullness of his mouth, the dip in his cheeks where his dimples would be if he were smiling instead of looking sorrowful.

He was right. He _wasn’t_ those other guys. Even if he did have a crush on her, even though he had flirted with and kissed her, he’d also been a good partner; he’d been kind to her, supportive, stood up for her against his own mentor. And no matter what she did, no matter how much confidence the suit gave her, she was still cruel to take her anger at other people out on him.

She swallowed her pride.

“Alright. You’re right. I treated you badly. I’m sorry, Robin...I mean...I’m sorry, Dick.”

“And I’m sorry if it came off like I thought you were incompetent.” He dipped his head for a few seconds, then made eye contact, tilting his head like he really was some kind of bird. It was kind of cute, actually. “I don’t think you’re incompetent. I think you’re really cool.”

“Okay.” She suppressed a blush, then cleared her throat. “But don’t try pulling anything else on me again, okay? Don’t flirt, please try not to get any more accidental boners, and don’t bother trying to surprise me, cause you’re never going to kiss me again.”

“I thought we agreed to never ever bring up being stuck together in Crazy Quilt’s safe,” he protested, but still looked much happier. “And...huh. Never kiss you again. Alright, I think I can live with that as long as you don’t hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” she promised, the very last of her anger at his joking and flirting dissolving away. “You’re a good kid. And I guess...I guess we could grow to be friends.”

Dick straightened up. Barbara’s heart felt lighter.

“Good enough for me,” he said, smiling. Despite that, she spotted the pang of disappointment in his eyes, and she felt a little sorry for him, then shook it off; whatever they were now, she could never reciprocate his crush.

Even if he hadn’t been a child, Katarina had been less than a year ago. She didn’t really feel ready to trust anyone that way.

Barbara lifted one foot and placed it back on the motorcycle.

“C’mon, partner. Let’s go get the Riddler.”

Dick genuinely brightened, putting away his grappling hook and swinging onto her motorcycle behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. He was surprisingly strong for someone so considerably smaller than her.

“Be gentle with me,” he cautioned, his joking attitude returning. “The crime-fighting spirit is willing but the crime-fighting flesh is soft and easily bruised. Plus I see you haven’t installed any seatbelts on this thing.”

Barbara wondered at how easily he got angry, but also at how easily he forgave.

She also felt a little humbled. She got angry easily too, but it was so much harder for her to forgive.

“Try not to fall off, and I think you’ll be good.”

He shuffled up a little closer, his small body pressed up against her back, face buried in her hair, like even the feeling of it, like even the scent of her shampoo awed him.

Barbara took a deep breath, then gunned the Bat-cycle.

The two of them roared off into the smoky city night.

 

* * *

 

_Four-And-A-Half Years Ago_

 

Her newly-official family still didn’t quite understand or trust her tentative rapport with these particular informants.

It was only really her Birds that got it.

The July afternoon flopped over Gotham like a hot wet blanket, omnipresent sun mixing with curls of steam in the air. Most people were sensible enough to stay indoors, so Barbara and Helena rode the subway through near-abandoned stations, sleepy junkies and phone-absorbed teenagers and musicians playing for cash their only company, and they were alone when they reached the tall, rather stately apartment building.

Helena, in a purple cotton dress, customary silver crucifix around her neck, and very dark sunglasses, was the one to hit the intercom button.

“Hello?” came the deep, gruff Russian voice.

“Hey Alex, it’s us: H and O.” Helena rested her hand against the doorframe. “Mind buzzing us in?”

“Nobody calls me Alex,” he grumbled. “What are you two doing here in person? Thought it was going to be a phone call.”

“O wanted to drop by herself. And you know her, she doesn’t give a good goddamn for people’s expectations,” she said lightly.

“You swear a lot for a good Christian woman. I ever tell you that?”

“ _Da_. You’ve also told me I kick very hard for a good Christian woman.”

“Both are true.”

Despite the grousing, the door buzzed open for them anyway. Barbara adjusted her sun hat, peering up at her friend.

“Haven’t we antagonized these two enough already?”

“Oh please, like you’re ever done antagonizing someone.”

She couldn’t really argue with that.

Within a minute and a half, the elevator pinged, and the two women moved out into the penthouse.

Barbara wasn’t big on clutter, but the penthouse made her home look like an upended garage sale. The floor-to-ceiling windows illuminated a white interior so austere as to be bare. The furniture was plain, almost uncomfortable-looking, and the only decoration appeared to be several sets of workout equipment on the floor and a handful of modern art pieces on the walls: geometric figures and jabs of gray, black, and red, like an impression of a 1970s Soviet bloc — or like Gotham on a bad day.

All in all, a fairly even blend of the two occupants’ personal tastes.

Barbara felt him looming up behind her before either of them could speak a word.

“The ring looks good on you,” Brian Durlin, aka Savant, said shortly.

“Thanks. Yours too.”

He folded his massive arms, the ring in question, the one on his fourth finger, glinting in the sunlight.

Unlike her own wedding a month prior, theirs had been small and private. She hadn’t even known about it until they called in the middle of her honeymoon to tell her that they’d just been wedded at City Hall that very day, and yes, they were glad she and her new husband had liked the gift they’d gotten them, and that the way she described it made Costa Rica sound horrible, _far_ too sunny and friendly for their tastes.

(They had given her a copy of _The Manchurian Candidate._ She was fairly certain this was meant to be ironic, so, in return, she gave them an extremely basic guide to computer coding, intended for high schoolers.)

(One almost couldn’t tell that they’d kidnapped and attacked her friends multiple times before.)

“What is this about?” he asked. Aleksander Creote, who of course had been the one to answer the intercom, came up behind his husband, resting one hand on Savant’s shoulder.

“You remember the weapons shipment that your old contact is bringing into Gotham Harbor tomorrow night?”

“Yes, you told me to get information on that. Is something wrong?”

“No, I just thought we’d touch base in person.” She took off her hat, just as Helena slid off her sunglasses.

“Yeah, and let’s make the most of it.” Her friend combed her calloused fingers through her long dark hair. “‘Cause a black woman and a handicapped woman get some hella weird stares coming through this expensive neighborhood, let me tell you. Hmph. Shitheads. Thinking we don’t belong here, that we don’t live here.”

“We _don’t_ live here, Hel.”

“Yeah, but still, fuck them. Fuck them for assuming correctly about us.”

“You did not need to come in person,” Creote interrupted. “We could have just transmitted the information on the weapons traffickers to you the way we usually do.”

There were a few moments of silence.

“She wanted to check on you.”

“ _Helena_.”

“Oh don’t deny it. I’m not surprised; it’s the first time you’ve seen them since your wedding last month, since before they got hitched, and you were the one to get them together in the first place,” Helena scoffed. “Plus, you check up on people like it’s your job. You’ve called me like fifty times since September just to ask how my transfer to Gotham High’s been treating me.”

Barbara could feel herself flushing.

“Okay first of all, checking up on people _is_ my job, and second of all —”

“You do not have to make friends with us,” Savant said gruffly, pushing a handful of pale hair out of his eyes. “You have been better to us. Encouraging our relationship. Trusting us to not turn on you. Now inviting us to your wedding, and this...your guilty conscience does not have to push you this far, Barbara.”

Her face heated up further.

“I don’t need my past with anyone weighing on me anymore, Savant. Let me try to be a good person to you, alright?”

Helena inclined her head slightly.

The two men exchanged looks, but didn’t argue further.

“How is Zinda?” Creote asked after a few seconds.

Barbara almost laughed.

“She won’t hit on you anymore, I promise.”

The big Russian’s mouth twitched up, ever so slightly.

“How is your son? Does he make his father proud?”

“He’s only three months old.” She actually smiled this time. “But yes. _And_ his mother.”

Savant didn’t relax quite so easily, but he made no more attempts to brush her off as they kept talking. She memorized their information for her, and Helena took notes on her phone (for the members of the Birds of Prey without eidetic memories), unusually quiet during.

It wasn’t until they were back out under the merciless summer heat that her friend spoke again.

“You don’t have to try anymore, Babs.”

“Huh?”

“You are a good person. As the resident expert, lay off yourself with the Catholic guilt.”

Barbara just sighed, pulling down the brim of her hat, not quite able to meet Helena’s eyes.

“I haven’t always acted like a good person, Hel. You know that. I just...if I can, I want to make up for those times when I haven’t.”

Helena, one of her best friends, didn’t argue with this denouncement. She simply nodded her head, acknowledging that that was completely, perfectly true.

She was slipping her sunglasses back up her nose when Barbara spoke again.

“And I married into a Jewish family. I’m a _lapsed_ Catholic at best.”

“Well, that’s definitely true.”

The brutal sun winked off the suffering Christ on Helena’s chest.

The two women pressed back onwards.

 

* * *

 

It took a long, long time for the tears to stop.

But eventually, she straightened up, wiping the drying wells and trails from her eyes and cheeks. Her blouse was dotted with the wet spots and when she’d leaned forward, it’d dripped down onto her mouth and chin; when she licked her lips, they were as salty and bitter as the sea.

Thirty-four years old, and only just now shedding the tears her thirteen-year-old self had held back.

Barbara took a shuddering breath and leaned back in her seat, wrapping both her arms around her torso. One around her own chest, one around the huge swell of her womb.

She hadn’t acknowledged her own fear of being the mother of a daughter before. Not to her father, not to her husband, not to any of her friends. Not even to herself.

She recalled how happy she’d been at the ultrasound, Dr. King pointing at the moving, blurred shape on the screen and indicating the unprecedented truth: that she was carrying a girl. She recalled how Dick had gasped and clutched her hand, how she’d felt her entire body grow light. She’d been astonished that she wasn’t going to have another son when she was already so familiar with boys, but more than that, she’d been _so_ _happy_ to have a daughter.

A daughter! In spite of the fact that both their blood families and his adoptive one produced so few girls. A daughter, part of their legacy of athletes and lawmen and great heroes, industries that had once been difficult if not impossible for girls to succeed in, a daughter for the woman who’d been born and raised among the ranks of men, who’d only previously had sons.

She had been so proud. So excited. To raise her, to love her, inspire her, to have her be happily surrounded by people who adored her, especially women, so that unlike Barbara she wouldn’t have to fight her own instincts in order to love them and find a place among them. That girl would be raised by and look up to the ranks of those women Barbara knew and loved, those strange, diverse, wonderful women. Maybe one day she would grow just as great as, or, perhaps, _greater_ than, them all. 

Now the conflicting feeling to all that, that had already been there to a degree with her sons, but was exacerbated now, came crashing down on her too.

She may not have been her mother. But like her, for a long time she had carried all her hurt on her back and in her heart, and, by extension, all the fear and lack of trust that that hurt had instilled in her. Like her mother, she had taken her pain out on other people, had punished them for her own issues.

Barbara was a hero. She knew she had done a huge amount of good. She knew that she had protected and saved countless people. She knew that she had improved nearly all her relationships, and until this upheaval, she had made her peace with the ones she could not fix.

But that did not change the fact that those relationships had needed improving in the first place, and a great deal of that was due to her. She still found herself, from time to time, longing to take back having pushed away those who loved her, having been unnecessarily cruel or manipulative towards those she had power over, not reaching out to those who needed it because she was afraid or because it was not convenient. Because of her own problems. All too similar to how her mother had taken her frustrations and insecurities out on the convenient target that was an unwanted young girl.

So what did that mean for _her_ daughter? She knew unhappy families. She knew abuse cycles. She knew all too well how victims could unwittingly become perpetrators. Was a similar story fated for her own family? Was history doomed to repeat itself?

It took some more time, but eventually Barbara released her arms from around herself. She inhaled and exhaled slowly, lifting her hands, wrapping her fingers around the steering wheel.

She couldn’t stand for any of the people around her to know those ugly feelings in her, to see her brought so low, as much as she couldn’t stand the thought of someday alienating her child.

She sighed softly as she turned the engine on.

The truth would set you free. But it also came with a new, different set of burdens.

For now, she turned the Hummer back towards her home. Though for once, the idea of her home provided no comfort.

No _sense_ of home.

 

* * *

 

_Fifteen Years Ago_

 

Barbara had learned a lot about Batman over the last year since she’d started working for him. That he thought of his teenage ward like a son and his old butler like a father, though he’d never said either of those things out loud. That he liked French onion soup and lapsang souchong and dark chocolate with caramel, though not all at the same time. That he enjoyed going to movies and to the opera, but not to plays. That he owned Wonder Woman merchandise, but not Superman. That he was really Bruce Wayne.

The most obvious thing she’d learned, however, was that Bruce Thomas “Batman” Wayne was one great big paranoid control freak.

“I don’t like this,” he complained, his voice echoing around the Batcave. The colony of bats on the ceiling, dangling from stalactites and chunks of rock, chittered and rustled their wings, irritated to be disturbed just as the sun was coming up and they were trying to go to sleep. “I haven’t even had time to run a background check on this girl, and you already have a date with her?”

“B, for God’s sake,” Dick complained, shrugging off his cape and slipping off the pixie boots. He was kind of outgrowing them. In the last few months, he’d seemed to be finally going through puberty: shooting up several inches almost overnight, his shoulders broadening and his voice deepening, growing into his features, becoming stronger and more comfortable in his body, getting far fewer pitying looks from girls his age and far more intrigued ones. He was still a kid, but you could really see now that he was going to be handsome when he finished growing up. “She’s a nice girl okay? Can you, for like, five goddamn seconds, act like an actual human being and not like yourself?”

“You may be sixteen now, but you are still my responsibility,” Bruce growled. “I don’t want to take any chances. You’re a huge target, both in and out of costume, and I won’t have someone preying on you or even so much as playing with your feelings to get their hands on our secret or your trust fund and inheritance — which I don’t put past anyone, much less this one random girl.”

Dick furiously opened his mouth to rebut, but Barbara cut them both off.

“Bruce, shut up okay? I’ll talk to his date. Dick, come with me.”

“I’m your superior too, Batgirl,” he called after her, but as she led Dick to the changing rooms, he didn’t chase after them.

It may have been the second changing room, which had become the girls’ changing room after she’d joined them, but he didn’t complain. Just pulled his mask off and sat down next to her.

“I wish he trusted me,” he sighed. “If not the people I date, then at least my judgement.”

She rested a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t blush or stiffen up, and she didn’t feel like she was leading him on with her touch. Over the last year, she’d grown accustomed to his closeness, his friendship...and she found that she liked it.

“Yeah, he’s a bastard sometimes,” she agreed.

“Hey, watch it. Only Alfred and I are allowed to say that about him. And I’m pretty sure Clark and Diana.”

She smiled faintly. He wasn’t _that_ mad.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m glad you’re going out with her. Getting over Liu, getting over the mysterious Tony you never let me meet...”

“It’s probably for the better, I don’t think you would’ve liked him anyway.”

Everything screeched to a halt. 

Barbara’s breath caught.

“...‘Him’?”

Dick turned and looked at her, blue eyes suddenly narrowing.

“Yeah. ‘Him.’ Tony was a guy. I’m bisexual. I like both girls _and_ guys. Got a problem with that?”

Barbara could’ve cried, though not for why he thought.

So she had been right all along. She wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t faking it or indecisive or in denial. Who she was was a real thing with a name, and what was more, her friend was like that too.

“No,” she said softly. “I...I am too.”

Dick softened immediately. When he looked at her again, it was with new understanding, nodding in solidarity.

“That’s cool, Babs,” he said, smiling genuinely. His smile warmed her to the core. “Thanks for telling me.”

“I only just realized. I mean, I’ve known I liked both for a while, but...I never knew there was a word for it. That it was a real thing.”

“Hmm. I get it.”

Then:

“All my friends are too, y’know.”

“Wow. I _did_ kind of suspect that Roy and Wally had crushes on you,” she returned, a big smile growing across her own face. “Donna too, though? And Garth?”

“Yes and yes, though Donna and I are strictly platonic.”

“So it really _is_ real,” she murmured. Years of uncertainty crumbled away inside her, and she felt nothing but incredibly grateful for Dick Grayson. “I really am...” She turned her smile towards him. “Dick, thank you.”

“Hey, that’s what friends are for.”

She shook her head slowly.

“I think I...I was too hard on you. I know, you’re going to remind me that you came onto me, that your crush made me uncomfortable, but I was really harsh sometimes. And you’re a good guy. A good friend. Why are you such a good friend to me?”

Something flickered in his eyes, but he just shrugged.

“I dunno. I guess I never stopped liking and admiring you. Maybe the kind of love you feel for friends and the romantic kinda love aren’t that different after all. Maybe they overlap a lot more than we think.”

She wrapped an arm around her best friend and let him lean into her. Just months ago, this would’ve been unthinkable.

“I like you too, Boy Wonder.”

“Glad to hear it.” He looked up at her. “So your choosing to work with Black Canary for a little while there, did that have anything to do with it?”

“Shut up.”

“Aha! It was the fishnets, wasn’t it?”

“Shut _up_.”

He laughed, chest vibrating against her side.

“No way. C’mon, admit you thought she was hot.”

Barbara smiled a bit.

“Yeah, okay. She’s hot. _Really_ hot.”

Dick nodded.

“Not my type, but yeah, she really is.”

“What? Not your type? I thought blond hair and big tits was _everyone’s_ type.”

“Maybe that’s just _your_ type.”

She cuffed him upside the head for that, which only made him laugh more.

“Okay, okay, I’m serious now.” He paused. “And since I’m being serious...got any suggestions for where to take Sonia?”

“There’s an outdoor music festival on Saturday afternoon, and until it starts, the bookstore-slash-cafe on 45th and 7th. I used to hang out there all the time when I was in high school.”

“You mean when you were thirteen? Damn, I can’t get over that you went to high school then. When I was thirteen, all I was doing was kicking Mad Hatter’s teeth in. Any half-witted cop can do that.”

“Not when they were barely three feet tall they couldn’t.”

“Fuck you,” he smirked.

“Ha, now _that’s_ never going to happen.”

They playfully swiped at each other a few more times, before she wrapped her arm back around him. Peaceful silence stretched between them like sunlight. 

Judging by how he still liked her, still admired her, was still a loyal and dedicated partner, Barbara had to admit it. Maybe it was true what he said about friendship and love. Maybe they overlapped a lot more than she’d ever seen from other people, ever experienced, ever known.

Though she needed to see it more before she really believed it.

 

* * *

 

_Four-And-A-Half Years Ago_

 

“I need a break from all that dancing,” Dinah laughed, collapsing down at the table next to her. “God, my feet are killing me.”

She looked stunning as always in her green dress, impeccable makeup that hadn’t budged even under the late-June evening, thick blonde hair blown out for the occasion. String lights flickered above them under the roof of the marquee, and fat white candles burned in glass jars upon the tables. The heavy air over the Wayne Manor grounds smelled like vanilla frosting and roasted meat and green plants and the warm, heady quality that only summer nights had. Despite Dinah’s respite, the music continued, and many of their friends and colleagues continued to slow dance around them through the thick, scented twilight.

“Well, that’s what you get for challenging Diana to a fast song,” Barbara returned. She’d been smiling all day, so much that her cheeks hurt, but she just couldn’t stop. She took a moment to smooth down the front of her white dress. “I don’t think anyone can out-dance an Amazon, much less you in those spiked heels of yours.”

“Go to hell.” Dinah lightly shoved her shoulder. “And you still have cake on your nose, by the way.”

“I don’t care.” She rested her chin on one hand. “I don’t care about anything...it’s so strange. I’m so happy, I’ve just stopped worrying entirely. Isn’t that weird?”

“For you, yes, very much so.” Dinah took her other hand, their fingers interlocking. “But I couldn’t be happier now either, for your sake.”

The song continued, the song about going back on the things that you knew, about changing, when you were waking up every day with the person you loved. She watched Bruce, big and quiet and brooding, lead Selina, in a black dress spitting in the tradition of weddings, around in a slow circle, her head resting on his shoulder, while nearby Kate and Maggie in their matching tuxes couldn’t look away from each others’ eyes. Ted held Booster Gold close while Skeets hovered over them like a friendly metal fairy, Kyle Rayner waltzed with Connor Hawke next to Tim and Conner Kent. Clark and Lois kept step with Helena and Karen, surrounded by Anissa and Grace and Kori and Donna and Midnighter and Apollo and Roy and Jason and Steph and Cass and Hank and Dawn and Kendra and Mari and Wally and Linda and Beatriz and Tora and Garth and Dolphin and Karen and Mal and Barda and Scott and Diana and Steve and... _everyone_. Whether it was the fact that they were at a wedding or not, the looks on their faces conveyed nothing but joy and love.

“Dinah?”

“Yeah?”

“Your maid of honor speech was too lewd.”

Dinah just cackled.

“Seriously. My dad was sitting right next to you.”

“You literally had a baby two months ago. If he still thinks you don’t have sex, he’s crazy.”

“Would you want me implying to _him_ —” She gestured to Ted Grant, aka Wildcat, who was nursing a glass of whiskey from the open bar and telling a probably-off-color joke to a smirking Renee Montoya and guffawing Harvey Bullock, “— what you do in bed?”

“Ted worked with my mom too, remember? After all her complaining about me, if he was going to change his opinion of me for the worse, he would’ve done it already.“

Barbara smiled crookedly.

“Point. I think Bruce is the same way.”

“Yeah, he’s got a good heart under all that Kevlar and bitchiness.”

“Father figures, right?” Barbara sipped her champagne.

A few seconds of quiet elapsed, the only sounds being the soft music and the humming of the lights.

“Dinah?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For everything.”

“It’s nothing.” Her friend waved a hand, her nails lacquered red, her palm and fingers covered with scars and hard callouses. “You were _my_ maid of honor too, I’m just returning the favor. And possibly sending off good vibes so that your marriage ends better than any of mine.”

She smiled at the self-deprecating joke, but Barbara did not miss the slight flash of pain in her eyes.

“No, I mean even before this. Sometimes I haven’t been there, and sometimes I’ve been a total bitch, but you’ve always been the best friend I could ever ask for. I’m happy to be here today, to have finally gotten to this point, but I’m just as happy that you’re here too. You’re a big part of the fact that I’m at this place in my life.”

Dinah’s pain evaporated. The slight lines around her blue eyes softened.

“You mean all my pushing you and nagging you and getting you mad at me was finally worth it?” she teased gently, her expression warm. “That you finally get that I saw all this —” She gestured expansively, “— all that potential to open up and be happy, in you even then?”

“Yeah, exactly.” Barbara rested her hand atop her best friend’s. Hers was just as rough and scarred, her new wedding ring glimmering in the candlelight. “You brought me out into the light. There’s no way I’d have all the relationships, all the people, in my life now if you hadn’t agreed to go on that first mission for a stranger out of the blue five years ago.”

“Told you the impulsivity works sometimes.” Their fingers interlocked, a kind of reminder that they had once been lovers. Maybe the intimacy had never really left, or maybe it had been there even before they slept together. “Haven’t I told you how you lifted me out of a miserable place in my life, and then did it again and again?” Dinah rested her head on her shoulder. “Told you. I’m just repaying the favor.”

Barbara couldn’t speak. There was nothing she _could_ say to equal that, her emotions threatened to overwhelm her, especially as a different shape manifested out of the soft light.

“Am I interrupting anything?”

“No way. I would _hope_ you could come join her.”

Beaming, Dick sat down on her other side, his ringed left hand taking her unoccupied, bare right one. Dozens of other men wearing tuxes all around them, but to her eyes, he still stood out, still shone with a light of his own.

She slowly rubbed her thumb over his knuckles.

“Where’s John?”

“Damian has him. Showing him off to all his little friends.”

She looked between his other siblings, paired off with their lovers, heads resting on shoulders, and saw Damian through the buttery light, surrounded by a throng of kids his own age. The young boy had his head high in pride, bright green eyes unusually soft with satisfaction, and she looked to where her baby was being propped up expertly in his arms. He was nestled up against his uncle, smiling in his sleep, little fingers curling.

“Figures,” she said softly, her chest radiating warmth.

Her husband moved his chair closer, leaning into her, while her best friend kept her head rested on her shoulder. She held both their hands, shutting her eyes —

— and everything bad that had ever happened to anyone under that tent seemed to fall away.

The crickets chirped, the fireflies flickered. The golden-white lights glowed. The summer night deepened from the purest blue into the softest black. The warmth and safety of the people around her did not falter, did not lessen at all.

Everything was right.

 

* * *

 

She couldn’t call the girls, her friends.

She couldn’t call Dick or any of his family.

She couldn’t call her dad or Sarah.

God, she couldn’t call Sarah. She couldn’t look at Sarah right now.

She couldn’t bear to look into any sympathetic faces right now. She didn’t want to see the horror burgeoning into sorrow and pity. Even throwing herself into helping other heroes, trying to focus on doing good instead, would entail interacting with people to some degree.

No relief came from reentering her home. Seeing the artifacts of her life, of her family, embedded into her life, made her feel no better.

When she went to her computer, she didn’t pick up her headset. Just tapped the keys. There were probably calls coming through, people asking about her and wanting to talk, even about mundanities, but a kind of coldness went through her at the very thought of talking with them. She was too afraid of it all spilling out again, of breaking down again.

A small message came through from Helena, rolling across her holographic display.

_Bored without the Birds, it read. You sure you can’t give me a small mission for the next few days?_

She didn’t have time to do anything before Helena added:

_Don’t quote me on this, but I miss you all when we’re not hero-ing. Can’t wait till the kid comes out._

_I thought the preexisting kids at GA were keeping you busy, Barbara wrote in reply._

_Are you kidding? It’s almost Christmas break. All I’m doing is running study sessions for midterms. All any of us in the community are looking forward to is seeing your bambina. If missions aren’t on the table, call your doctor, tell her to pull the kid out of you early._

_Well, much as I’ve been complaining about the third trimester, I dunno if I want the kid to come out of me any time soon._

_Oh come on, you’ve been looking forward to this for months. Don’t tell me you’re freaking out about time and imposing your kids on other people again._

_Nothing like that, Hel. Don’t worry._

_Well, we’ll be there when the day comes. Kendra and Mari’ve got presents, Barda wants to give her warrior-woman training pretty much as soon as she starts toddling, Charlie and Wendy are already clamoring to babysit, and Zinda’s buying up all the booze in the country to celebrate the occasion. We’re here for you and your girl, you beautiful boss bitch._

Barbara let out a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob, simultaneously wishing her friends could make things easier with their being there, their earnest desire to help and to honor her family, and wishing that they and everyone else would leave her alone.

_Thanks, Helena. I guess I’ll see you in a few days._

_See you soon. Love you, Babs._

She pressed her hands to her face, trying to calm her shaky breathing.

It took a while.

She then straightened her back and tried to bury herself in casework, then in routine stuff, but it didn’t soothe her any more than her friend’s reassurance had.

Her work. Her family. Her friends. Her life. It all had seemed spoiled, like a beautiful feast that had turned to ash in her mouth.

Damn all that progress, all that opening up. Vulnerability hurt just as badly as turning away.

 

* * *

 

  _Fourteen Years Ago_

 

As much as she hated going to Bruce’s parties, Barbara hated GCPD gatherings a whole lot more. At least at the parties, Bruce would make a fool of himself to relieve her in an emergency, and even before that, Dick and the other Teen Titans, the self-proclaimed “Fab Five,” were more likely than not to be there. That lot were _always_ fun to be around, whether they were sneaking vodka together in the coat closet or telling crazy stories about crime-fighting or talking idly about what Themyscira was really like and getting to visit the Central City CSI lab and Oliver Queen’s getting in trouble with Republican senators while they held Garth’s hair back while he puked from too much vodka.

Her best friend and his group genuinely made up for the rest of it: the bratty, entitled teenagers and college kids going on about their new cars or Ivy League enrollment, the unnaturally beautiful women gossiping about each other or smirking behind their hands at her cheap dresses and sharp tongue, and the aging men blowing cigar smoke while they bragged about their money and the exploitative practices in which they amused themselves or made even more money and tried to grope her ass when Bruce wasn’t looking. At least Roy had spat in Tiffany Ford’s champagne and Donna had accidentally-on-purpose dropped Viennese chocolate cake all over Chester Wethersfield’s white Armani shirt.

But there was no one, not even her own friends, who wouldn’t be caught _dead_ at a policeman’s ball, to relieve her from making small talk with the daughters of what seemed to be every cop in Gotham — all trying to get into the good books of the man who was up for the title of Police Commissioner.

“So Barbara,” trilled the offspring of some sergeant or another, twirling silky brown hair around one finger, “I’ve always thought you were really cool, and you know, my dad’s always admired your dad’s work. Do you think we could get an introduction?”

Not even any preamble.

“My dad too,” a different one chirped. “Everyone in my house supports Captain Gordon and his work, swear to God.”

“Oh, my family practically worships him.”

“Nothing compared to mine. It’s crazy, can you believe it?”

Barbara could not believe it. She wasn’t falling for one word of this; corruption, incompetence, and violence against suspects and civilians alike, everything her father was fighting against, were all still rampant throughout the GCPD. Odds were, these girls’ fathers just wanted to get in with her dad to sway his opinions and practices to their desires — regaining the freedom Commissioners Loeb and Grogan had given them to become little more than badge-wielding thugs — once he had power over the whole police force.

“How nice,” she said, her voice dripping sarcasm. “How completely believable. And how very, very convenient, for your fathers to worship the man who’s on track to become Commissioner.”

“Oh Barbara, what are you talking about? You’re seeing things that aren’t there —”

Her grip tightened on her glass.

But a new voice cut through the air before she could really let that other girl have it.

“Barbara? Barbara Gordon? Is that you?”

She wheeled, gasping when she recognized the speaker, heart speeding up.

He hadn’t changed much in the two years since she’d become Batgirl, just enough to make her catch her breath. He was clad in a dark blue suit, still with a limp from his injury, still exactly three inches taller than her five-eleven, but his golden hair had grown out, he’d put on muscle, and most of all, much of the invisible weight of expectations seemed to have fallen from his shoulders.

Jason Bard, former rookie cop, smiled at her and offered his hand.

“I thought so. It’s been a while; you look really good.”

“You too,” she managed to say, hoping to heaven that she wasn’t blushing.

Their handshake lasted a few seconds longer than it should’ve; Jason noticed this and withdrew his hand, clearing his throat, and now _he_ was the one turning pink.

The other girls gaped in outrage as he ignored them, kept talking to her and her alone.

“So did you end up becoming a P.I. like you wanted?”

“Yep, got my license last year. Not planning on walking any more beats.” He smiled at her; had those blue eyes always been able to make her heart flutter like that? Or had she just been too wrapped up in her own problems when she was eighteen? And she loved that he’d let his hair grow out to his chin like that, it looked so much better, gleaming like sunlight...

Alright, so she _did_ have a thing for blonds.

“And yet, you show up to the cop ball,” she teased him lightly. “You sure you’ve got no regrets?”

He chuckled and bowed his head.

“Nah, I’m just here to support your dad. Make sure he knows I’m rooting for him to become Commissioner. After all he did for me, it’s the least I can do for him.”

“Trust me Jason, my dad is not expecting anything from you in return,” she replied, smiling. “But the sentiment’s appreciated.”

The ringleader girl cleared her throat.

“Barbara...” she whined. “We were talking. This guy can’t just bust up our conversation. We’re policemen’s daughters. We stick together. Right?”

“Hmm?” Barbara briefly glanced behind her. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you say something?”

The girl let out a furious noise somewhere between a huff and a squeak. Jason stifled a laugh.

“Babs, that was mean,” he chided gently as the other girls stomped away.

“Oh please, they were just kissing up to my family so their dads could keep assaulting civilians with no consequences.” She drained her glass of Jameson, wondering if he would be intimidated by her thoughts, her opinions. Then she immediately decided that that was _his_ problem. “Do you know many people have already been shot at in this city, this year alone, by the police?”

“Four hundred and seventy-five.”

She started, surprised.

“Yes.” She regained herself. “And sixty-two percent of them ended up dead. I’m a cop’s daughter, Jason, that doesn’t mean I’m blind to what cops got away with under Loeb and keep getting away with under Grogan. Or that they won’t try to keep doing it even if my dad makes Commissioner. I don’t care if that makes me mean.”

He looked at her, still perfectly calm.

“So I take it you’ve changed your mind about becoming a cop yourself?”

She studied her empty glass. No ice; Gordons always drank their whiskey neat. Gordons also drank underage, even if they lived with cops, but though she did, Barbara studiously avoided developing a problem. Roger Gordon was a near-forgotten memory now, but she still wasn’t about to become a drunk like him. The idea of becoming dependent on _anything_ , including alcohol, disgusted her.

“Yeah, no. I guess when I fight to change the world, I’ll do it from _outside_ the system.”

Jason tilted his head, smiling slightly, as though she were hard to believe real.

“You are still a rare woman, Barbara Gordon.”

“Yeah, well.”

“I’m serious. Smart, passionate, beautiful...”

“Alright, shut up.”

In her entire life up to that moment, only two people had ever called her beautiful before: her father and Dick.

And she had taken both those opinions with a grain of salt — albeit for different reasons.

“I’ll shut up.” Jason lifted his hands, his smile not dropping. “After one question: would you like to blow this joint and come have a cup of coffee with me?”

Barbara was dumbstruck. For a few seconds, silence stretched between them; a waiter passed by, she set her empty glass on the tray almost absently.

“Jason, I...are you asking me out?”

“Yes. I mean, we already know each other, so I hope you don’t think I’m secretly a murderer or anything, but I like you. I liked you two years ago, and I like you now.” He blinked, eyes crinkling, so carefree and calm, the polar opposite of Dick, who, even when he was working, was always bursting with energy, always had a thousand emotions bubbling close to the surface. “So. What do you say?”

She took a deep breath.

“Jason, I...you’re a really great guy, but...look, I haven’t had the best luck with relationships. Almost three years ago I broke up with my g — my first love, and it didn’t end well. And since then I haven’t found anyone I could ever be with. So I...I don’t know. I don’t have a lot of good models for this.”

He tried to take her hand.

“Babs, it’s just a date. We don’t have to worry about it all at once. Just trust me, let me show you.”

She bristled indignantly. 

“‘Trust’? ‘Don’t worry about it all at once’?”

“Barbara.” His look was as intense as it could be. “I’m not going to hurt you. I swear.”

Right then, despite herself...she believed him. She knew he was never going to hurt her.

“Alright.” She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself back down. Nothing had to happen just yet. She would make sure of that. “I suppose a cup of coffee won’t kill me.”

He smiled, so bright, so full of joy, and all the rest of the cops, their wives, their kids, their lackeys, all fell away. It seemed right then that nothing, nothing in the world, could possibly extinguish his happiness or feelings for her.

 

* * *

 

_Four-And-A-Half Years Ago_

 

The first day of her son’s life was a very odd combination of joy and exhaustion.

She’d braced herself for the difficulty of breastfeeding and the fact that babies were constantly messy, but she hadn’t entirely understood how _needy_ newborns also were. John had to have near-constant touch and attention, and he cried for everything, whether out of hunger or the need to have his diaper changed or just plain boredom. He’d been born in the dark of the night, already marked as one of their family, but it was nearly noon by the time he finally drifted off to sleep again.

His mother leaned into the pillows of the clinic bed and watched him in the bassinet, relieved for some peace. The longer she watched though, the less important her irritation and tiredness became.

So, so impossibly tiny. So perfectly formed. He was mostly quiet now, but he still snuffled in his sleep, just like his father, eyelashes fluttering and little fingers curling into his palms. One of the clinic workers had put him in a Batman onesie just after he was born, and unfurling proudly above his tiny body, his grandfather’s emblem looked like a sigil of good luck, a mark and a guarantee of the family’s protection.

Barbara almost unconsciously trailed over the new healing wound on her belly where her womb had been opened, where he had been born from her body. Then her right fingers gravitated over to the cuts on her left arm she’d sustained in her fight with Python the previous night, before finally touching down and over the new addition to her left hand: the engagement ring that had been put on her finger just hours ago.

“Hey, Babs.”

She looked up to the door where Dick was standing before her. He was still busted up himself, face and body marred by his temporary captivity, but to her, he was as beautiful as ever, looking at her and their child like they were the moon and stars in the night sky.

Actually, he was even _more_ beautiful than ever, because he was holding out two books with the store’s stickers still on them and an overstuffed paper bag from Five Guys.

“Oh my God, you are the best fiancé in the world, thank you,” she breathed, accepting both offerings. “I am _so_ hungry, and _so_ bored.”

“Hope you don’t mind I had mine without you.” He sat on the foot of the bed while she set down the books and started ripping into her cheeseburger and fries. “I figured once I got here you wouldn’t want to share.”

“Oh, you got _that_ right.”

How was it, she wondered, that he could still be so in awe of her while she was in a hospital gown, un-showered, covered in fresh wounds, with a saggy empty pocket of a belly and swollen breasts, and now also dripping ketchup and burger grease down her wrists?

Part of her wanted to dismiss it as him still being little fifteen-year-old Robin with a crush on fearless, confident, leggy Batgirl, still caught up in the past. But the — much larger — rest of her, reminded that first part of the truth: his love for her wasn’t contingent on anything, it was unconditional. His love for her wasn’t blind, it was knowing. It evolved as she did, and it was never going to go away. She could either run from it, as she’d had too times before, or she could embrace it.

Part of her still wanted to rip the ring off her finger and throw it away, to become caught up in the terror of giving herself fully to someone, of trusting someone fully.

But she knew that she wasn’t going to. 

She wiped the grease off her face and hands, then took up the accompanying chocolate milkshake and drank deeply. He’d even made sure there was whipped cream on it.

“I got you another Margaret Atwood and Neil Gaiman’s _Norse Mythology._ ” Though he was talking to her, those blue eyes suddenly looked very distant. “I mean, you really liked _American Gods,_ and I just thought, you know —”

“Honey, are you okay?”

He started.

“Look, if it’s anything I said or did —”

“No, it’s not that.” Dick shifted slightly in place. “It’s just. We’re going to be married. _Married_. Do...do you know how long I’ve been dreaming about this? And now it’s going to be _real_.”

Barbara finished her milkshake, moving her garbage to the floor. Then she moved the sheets aside and patted the space next to her.

He understood immediately, moving up the bed and slipping in next to her. She pulled the covers over the two of them; he wrapped his arm around her waist, careful to avoid her C-section wound, and they snuggled in close, never minding the ricketiness of the bed and how neither of them were in any shape to be cuddling.

“Do you know,” she murmured. “you’re the only person I ever wanted to have kids with?”

Dick was startled quiet by this.

“Really. With Katarina she was too volatile to consider a real future with, with Jason I never felt like I could share all of me with him, we could never fully be partners in life, with Dinah she already had kids. With anyone else, it was never serious enough to even think about.” She craned her neck around to look at him. “You’re the only one I ever wanted to father my children.”

He smiled again, and her heart tripped over itself.

“No matter how much they cry or they spit up on us or if they turn into moody brats when they’re teenagers? No matter if they end up liking our family members better than us because my siblings, Bruce, and your dad are definitely going to spoil them?”

She felt her mouth quirk up.

“No matter.”

He kissed her shoulder.

“I love you. And I’m so proud of you, Babs. I know you’ve come a long way, I know this is big for you.”

“You do know,” she whispered. “You’ve been here for me for so much... _I_ love _you_.”

“I know that too. I always knew. You’ve got a big heart, and you can never fool anyone who cares about you into thinking otherwise.”

She was too overwhelmed to speak.

So instead, for a while they just lay like that, slotted against each other like quotation marks, letting herself revel in love.

Even when the baby woke up again, crying for food, she still felt that love. Still let it surround her, holding fast to her, feeling secure in her partner, in her family — and in herself.

 

* * *

 

She texted her in-laws and asked them if they could pick her kids up at daycare, watch them for the evening. Bruce agreed to take his grandsons almost immediately, and so, half an hour before Dick was supposed to come home, she left.

Nothing had cleared her head when she was younger like a night running around the city. So as the snow kept coming down, silently burying the city deeper in white, inch by inch, she rolled out into the cold, hoping to get some perspective.

Her breath turned to mist in the air and she pulled her coat close around her body; pedestrians either gave her a wide berth or shoved past her, expecting her to move aside, like she and her wheelchair was somehow supposed to become smaller for their sake. She drifted into the subway, moving through the city in a haze, musicians playing blues on their saxophones, the sad music echoing through the cold stations.

Night had fallen by the time she emerged back into the streets and paused, shoulders aching. The twin fronts of a dingy pizza joint and a psychic’s shop rose up next to her like a wall of blinking, multicolored neon, and looking at the street sign, she realized with a jolt that she’d left her area of Gotham behind entirely. The Clock Tower lay on the other side of the city now; she was deep into the East End.

She pulled her coat around her again and looked about.

In some ways, the place had improved quite a bit over the last few years. Most of the strip clubs and mob-fronted joints had closed, to be replaced with supermarkets and stores for legitimate — if cheap — goods. Violent crime had decreased dramatically under the watchful eyes of Catwoman and Red Hood; gangsters and pimps may have still prowled the streets and lurked behind brothel windows, but nowadays, those who threatened their employees or any civilians were bound to end up with claws across the face or a bullet to the knee. But nearly all of the buildings were still shabby and lurid with graffiti, the children playing in the chiaroscuro of blue shadows and red light still had hollow cheeks, and prostitutes still stood on street corners in their long faux fur coats and maraschino lipstick. Crime Alley was within eyesight, Jason’s corner from when he was homeless and the Waynes’ death site a stone’s throw from where she sat.

She sighed softly, mist wisping from her mouth. The playing children idly scooped up and tossed some snow at each other, which, within seconds, turned into a full-blown snowball fight. At the same time, one of the nearby prostitutes muttered “screw this” and lit up a cigarette, rubbing her hands together and shivering, the edges of her coat not quite covering her legs.

“Pilar, those things are going to kill you,” one of her coworkers remarked. The other three all nodded solemnly.

“Not fast enough,” was Pilar’s grumbling reply.

Barbara kept her arms around herself, feeling the cold burn her cheeks, the snowflakes crowning her coat and her long hair.

One of the children pelted his friend with a snowball, making her collapse to the sidewalk, howling at the indignity. As she cried, a young man, mid-twenties or so, stopped lurking near a streetlight and swooped casually in next to the little girl, picking her up and brushing the clumps of snow off her pink Disney princess jacket.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” he intoned.

“No...” she moaned.

“Are your mommy and daddy around?”

“Nooo...” she wailed.

“Good,” he murmured, then, “Do you want some help?”

“Yes.”

“Because you don’t feel good, do you?”

“No!”

“Now how about we fix that, hm?” He took her by the wrist and began to steer her away, away from her friends and anyone she could call for help, right in the direction of the nearest alley. 

Barbara hissed through her teeth and rolled up to the scene as quickly as she could.

“Hi. Hi there. Look, do you two know each other?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the man at the same time the little girl said “No, ma’am.”

“Well sir, if she doesn’t know you, then what the hell do you think you’re doing? Get lost.”

“Ma’am, if you don’t mind, what I and this one here do is none of your —”

She grabbed his wrist and twisted it behind his back. He yowled in pain; all the nearby children stopped what they were doing and looked, intrigued. The prostitutes and a handful of assorted other pedestrians and store owners did too.

“Let me repeat myself, _sir_. Leave that girl alone, right now, or I’ll break it.”

He dropped the pretense of _ma’am_ , and glared through his tears — then spat at her.

“I do who and what I want. Fuck you.”

The bone snapped, and he screamed.

“ _Get_. The fuck. _Lost_.”

Whimpering and clutching his broken wrist, he scuttled off again. A store owner in a hijab and a cluster of teenagers all began clapping, and several of the kids booed him as he went, even if they didn’t really understand what had happened. The little girl wiped her nose on her jacket sleeve and stared up at her in surprise.

“Wish someone had been there for me like that as a kid,” Pilar murmured, impressed.

“Me too,” said three of her coworkers at once.

“Thank God for the kids’ new age of superheroes,” said a fourth, laughing throatily.

 _She has no idea how right she is,_ Barbara thought.

To the little girl still gazing at her, she said:

“You’re okay now, don’t worry. He’s not going to hurt you.” She dropped her voice. “But if I were you, I’d throw that snowball at your friend now, while his guard is down.”

She nodded, tiny black braids bouncing around her cheeks.

Then she nailed her friend in the back, making the other kids cheer, and the snowball fight broke back out in earnest.

Feeling a little better, Barbara began to move forward again.

 

* * *

 

_Fourteen Years Ago_

 

The snow drifted down in thick tufts, the night sky glowing orange with light pollution above them. Barbara crouched on the cold rooftop, focusing her Bat-binoculars, examining the museum roof across the street from her and her companion.

“Quiet night without Robin,” she remarked.

From where he was looming next to her, Bruce just hummed in response.

“You two fighting again?”

“Hmm.”

“Is this about how you want him to go to college next fall but he wants to take a gap year?”

“Hmm.”

“Or is it about how you said it was probably a good thing that the Teen Titans are disbanding, because you hated how much they had to commute when they already had other responsibilities?”

“Hmm.”

“Or is it because you run background checks on literally every person he goes out with?”

“Hmm.”

“Bruce, he’s going to be eighteen soon, you can’t keep being such a damn helicopter parent.”

“How’s your boyfriend?” was his reply.

She was so startled she almost dropped her binoculars.

“He’s — Jason’s not my boyfriend.”

“Is he not?”

“We’ve only been going out for three months, we’re not even exclusive yet.”

“I see. Does he want to be...how did you put it, ‘exclusive’?”

On cue, her cell phone started vibrating. She pulled it out of her utility belt, seeing at once that it was Jason that was calling her.

“Hi, Babs,” he greeted her brightly. She could faintly hear computer keys clacking and a spluttering coffee machine; she quickly deduced that he was staying late at his office.

“Jason, it’s after midnight.” She wondered how ridiculous she looked, the mysterious kickass Batgirl crouching in the snow next to a human brick wall calling himself Batman, simultaneously looking out for a costumed cat burglar and trying to have a normal conversation with the guy she was going out with. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all. I just wondered if you’d decided if you want me to pick you up from at six or seven on Friday night.”

Barbara froze. What was Friday night...?

“That’s for dinner at Nakamura’s, right?” she ventured.

“You have to ask?” He sounded surprised, and a little bit hurt. “Did you forget?”

“No, no, I didn’t forget,” she lied. “I just have another dinner date on Saturday, and I got mixed up about which of you were at Nakamura’s and which of you were at Bianchi’s.”

The second date, at least, was real. She wasn’t sure about keeping things up with Bobby O’Connor though; for one thing, he hadn’t willingly read a single book since high school, and for another, his parents were firefighters. Her cop dad was nearly always supportive of who she dated, but he would not be supportive of his only daughter dating someone associated with the fire department, no, not in his house.

“Oh, okay.” He paused. “Barbara, I was thinking.”

Oh no.

“What if...we didn’t see other people? Just each other?”

She froze.

“Babs? Hello?”

“Oh, um, Jason, I’m...I’m going to have to think about it.”

“Oh. Okay. Can you get back to me by tomorrow afternoon?”

“Sure okay,” she babbled, almost punching the phone off the roof in her attempt to hang up. Bruce let out a soft grunt; she pointed at him.

“Not one word from you.”

“Hrnn.”

“We’re literally waiting for your girlfriend to come rob this place.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he grumbled in a near-perfect echo of her earlier. “Now Batgirl, are you going to keep talking, or are you going to actually settle down and _work_?”

She glared into her binoculars.

But barely a second had passed before she heard voices on the street below them.

“— don’t want to come home right now, Vince, okay? Get the hell away from me.”

“Baby, it was nothing, okay? She means nothing to me.”

Out of curiosity, she turned the binoculars to the street. Of the couple arguing, the man was tall and pale, the woman was short and bespectacled, with long silky black hair that almost disappeared into the night. She was also trying to walk away from him, lugging a suitcase behind her.

“Nothing? You betrayed me for nothing? You’ve been fucking her for months right under my nose, and it was all for nothing?”

“C’mon Hiroka, ‘betrayed’? That’s bullshit. I didn’t betray you, you sound crazy. Don’t talk crazy. And if you won’t come home for me, at least come home for the kids.”

“The kids are with my mom, Vince, and that’s where I’m going too. Don’t call me until you get rid of your little side piece.”

Through the binocular lenses, Hiroka tried to hail a cab, but Vince grabbed her by the wrist, manhandling her over to the side of the building, all but slamming her against it.

Barbara jumped to her feet, instinctively reaching for her line.

“Batgirl, what do you think you’re —”

She leapt off the roof just as the shouting intensified.

“You can’t fucking leave me, Hiroka, you’re my wife!”

“Let go of me, let go, I’ll scream —”

“You’re my fucking wife! You crazy bitch, you can’t leave me over nothing, you can’t —”

“Vince, let go of me, I swear to God, let go —”

He raised his hand —

— But before he could do anything, his arm was pinned behind his back. He yowled in pain as Barbara forced it further out of alignment.

“Hey,” she growled through her teeth. “If I were you, I’d let her go.”

Hiroka stared at her in surprise, red-rimmed glasses flashing under the streetlights.

“Batgirl?” Vince managed to get out. “This is — _owwwwww_ — none of your — none of your goddamn business —”

She yanked his arm again, and he wailed.

“It is very much my business. Let. Her. Go.”

Vince released his wife’s wrist, and Hiroka backed away, massaging it, still looking at Barbara in astonishment. Vince then backed away, shooting them both hateful glares in between moans of pain, cradling his injured arm as he ran off into the snowy night.

“Ma’am, are you alright?”

“I’m okay.”

“Good. He won’t be bothering you again, I promise.”

Hiroka silently dusted off her coat, then looked at Barbara again, adjusting her glasses.

“Sorry. I’ve never seen one of you Bat-people in person before.”

Barbara shrugged, then waved over the next passing cab.

“It’s no problem. And if you’re lucky, you’ll never have to see me again.”

She still felt the other woman’s gaze of awe on her as she aimed her grapple gun at the sky, rocketing up the side of the museum. Bruce was already there, waiting for her, his expression like granite.

“Going to berate me for going off mission now?” she challenged. “Well, screw you too, Bruce, because I —”

“Good job down there.”

She stared.

“Wait, excuse me?”

He nodded slightly.

“I said good job. We’re not just looking to stop criminals, Batgirl, we’re looking to protect the people around us too. I’m glad you understand that.”

She kept staring at him. Though the winter night had frozen her all the way through her uniform, her chest suddenly felt warm.

He cleared his throat.

“But don’t use my name in uniform,” he said roughly. “You should know better than that.”

 _And he’s back,_  she thought, trying not to smile.

“Now come. Sel — Catwoman should be here any minute.”

The two of them crouched down behind a ledge and Barbara stopped worrying about Jason. He didn’t need to know every aspect of her life, any more than she needed to go at his pace. There was no need for her to risk her heart, or the work she loved so much, for the sake of anything, even someone she was might have been beginning to love.

 

* * *

 

_Five Years Ago_

 

She confronted Stephanie first thing the day after Valentine’s Day.

“So?” she prompted. The two women were huddled in the corner of Gail’s Bakery, drinking coffee, sharing a just-bought loaf of sourdough with blueberry jam. Sleet lashed the bakery windows, while the interior remained steamy warm, the air smelling of fresh bread and chocolate. “Cass hasn’t called me yet, so...how did you two’s big date go last night?”

Steph took a long gulp of her coffee. Her long, wild blonde hair was partially tied up, half of it twisted into a topknot, the other half curling loose around her shoulders. She was wearing purple lipstick to go with her favorite purple jacket, a fluffy pink scarf, and truly enormous hoop earrings. Her eyes were alight with excitement.

“It was fucking awesome,” she enthused. “Dinner was great, she loved the dance hall, and then at the end of the night I got to fucking kiss her — oh wait, you probably don’t want to hear that.”

“Stephanie, do I look like a prude?” Barbara smirked, resting a hand against where her son was growing inside her. “I’m glad you and she had a good time.”

“Me too.” Steph ripped off another hunk of bread, slathering it in the jam. Barbara followed suit, quiet for few minutes while Steph chattered about the details of the night, what they had ordered, what they had talked about, what songs they’d danced to, and which one had been playing while they kissed.

But as soon as she paused to take a breath, Barbara spoke up again.

“Steph, I hope you intend for this to be serious.”

Steph looked baffled.

“What are you talking about? I asked her out, didn’t I? And I kissed her. Why would I do that with my best friend if I didn’t want things to move along?”

Barbara sighed.

“Look, I know you love Cass. I know you want to be with her. And I know if I were going to give a serious shovel talk, I should’ve done it earlier. But, perfectly frankly, you have hurt her before, leaving her, letting her think you were dead. I’ve told you she was wrecked by that, but words can’t really encompass how wrecked. She’s pretty much always loved you, you’ve been pretty much everything to her, and yet you already broke her heart once.”

Steph looked simultaneously hurt and outraged, exacerbating the preexisting ache in Barbara’s chest.

“Why are you throwing that in my face now?” she snapped. “You think I don’t already know that I hurt her? You think I don’t fucking think every night about how I’ve let down the people around me? You just wanna twist the fucking knife, Barbara, like you’re any better than me?”

“No. I _know_ I’m not any better than you.”

Steph paused mid-rant.

“I’m worse. Because you tried, Steph. You tried so hard, every day, and you keep trying so hard every day, to be your best for all the people around you. To make up for your mistakes. I...have not always done that.”

Steph kept looking at her, expression not softening.

“My point is that loving someone doesn’t mean it’s impossible not to hurt them. I love Cass too, and she’s been through enough shit.” She pushed her glasses up her nose. “But I know you’ve been through a lot of shit too, that you would never willingly hurt her, that having to leave her behind was horrendous for you. I want to make absolutely sure that the two of you will be safe together, that you’ll be happy together. No more hurt. Just regular ups and downs. That’s all.”

Stephanie kept that fierce blue gaze trained on her for several long seconds.

Then she reached across the table and snatched up Barbara’s hand, squeezing hard.

“Is that your way of telling me you love me too? It needs some work.”

She exhaled hard, clutching Steph’s hand right back.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

She noticed absently that the younger woman’s pale, rough hands were stronger than they looked — and that the nails were painted purple too.

Or rather, eggplant, as Stephanie herself had often insisted.

Barbara found herself smiling again.

“But I do love you, Steph. Both of you. And more importantly, because you try so hard, I _believe_ in you.”

Something new entered Steph’s eyes. She blinked hard.

“So...do you intend for you and Cass to be serious? To really go somewhere?”

Steph didn’t hesitate. Just grinned, big and bright and hopeful, eyes shiny with tears.

“Yeah. One hundred percent.”

“Good.” Barbara leaned back in her seat, but didn’t let go of the hand locked around hers. “I’m glad you’re so sure about this.”

Steph shrugged, wild yellow curls caressing around her face. She wiped at her eyes with her fingertips. 

“What’s the other option? Missing out on being with someone you love? No thank you. I might be diving right in like a lunatic, again, but at least that means I’m not gonna lose her this time.”

Barbara nodded, feeling both slightly ashamed of herself — and proud of her girls.

“I’m glad you see it that way.”

The sleet kept coming down, like gray bullets to the shining glass windows.

 

* * *

 

Barbara left the children to their play and the working girls to their work; kept rolling down the icy sidewalk. The blue-white sheen of the ice was bathed in multiple flickering neon glows: pink, violet, red, yellow, green, advertising in all caps everything from _CHEAP BEER_ to _ALL HOURS GROCERIES_ to _GAY BURLESQUE DANCERS_ to _WOMEN’S SHOES HALF PRICE_ to _LIVE SHOWS: HOT GIRLS._ All the staples of city life, in other words.

She was so absorbed in her own thoughts that at first, she didn’t notice the men and women emerging all around her.

That is, until she heard the cold metal against her head and the click of the safety coming off.

Barbara’s shoulders stiffened. It was camera flashes that really brought her back to that bad space, even all these years later — but the sound of a handgun cocking still dredged up unpleasant memories for her too.

She forced herself to look around. There were about eight people surrounding her altogether, five men and three women. In their sport jackets and jeans, they all had scars, broken or yellow teeth, and tattoos on their faces, hands, and necks. The one pressing a gun to her temple looked about her age, a white guy with shaggy dirty-blond hair, rings on every finger, and eyes full of despair and fury.

“Is this a mugging?”

“This revenge, bitch,” said one of the women. She had a tattoo of a snarling leopard on her right hand, and one that read _Tanya_ _♡_ _Dre_ on her left, just below a wedding ring of her own. “You fucked up Pete’s wrist. Y’think he can afford to go to some damn hospital?”

“Ah. You’re with Pete. Let me guess: gang affiliation?” She glanced around again. “And since you’re a mixed group, and I don’t see any motorcycles, let me guess again: Lords of the Avenues?”

A different white guy nodded. One of his companions kicked him in the ankle.

“Well, I hate to tell you guys this, but your friend Pete is a pedo. If you expect me to apologize for not leaving a little girl to her fate, you’ve got another think coming.”

They all exchanged looks, but didn’t look particularly surprised. Anger and disgust rippled through her.

“But you already knew that, huh?”

“Everyone’s got they faults,” a third guy in a red Adidas coat said. The white woman next to him, whose hair was dyed indigo and had a crescent-shaped scar on her cheek, nodded in agreement before she drew a knife. “But the Lords take care of they own, and Pete’s family.”

“That little girl’s family to someone too.”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” snarled the man holding the gun to her head. “Bein’ knocked up doesn’t mean you know shit about family. I almost pity the kid inside ya.”

Barbara gave him a side-eyed look full of spite, which he returned.

“Stop fuckin’ around, Spence,” snapped Tanya the leopard woman, pulling out a gun of her own. “Show the bitch what Terrel said: the Lords take care of they own, and the Lords take revenge for they own.”

The third woman, with her long brown hair, tattoo that read _corvus_ _oculum_ _corvi_ _non_ _eruit_ in Latin across her cheek, and extremely heavy eyeliner, cornered Barbara with the other four men. Tanya lifted her gun, presumably so she couldn’t make a run for it. Keeping his own gun trained, Spence bent down so that his head was just behind hers.

“Maybe you learn something ‘bout love ‘n loyalty this way,” he breathed in her ear.

“Maybe I do.” She leaned her head forward.

One of the other men pulled back his fist —

— just before Barbara slammed the back of her head into Spence’s face. Her skull rang with pain, but judging by the sickening _crunch_ and Spence’s howl, muffled by a mouthful of blood, she’d broken his nose and knocked out several teeth.

Tanya was so shocked that her shot went wide and hit one of her own companions in the leg. Amid the screaming and cursing, Barbara whipped free and decked Spence in the face, the punch spraying blood and shattering what was left of his nose, knocking him both down and out.

“Fucking hell!” screamed the indigo-haired woman. “Get her — shoot her, fucking shoot her, Tanya!”

Tanya was not a good shot. The bullets rang out, hitting a Dumpster, a fire escape, the wall, but Barbara evaded her, and when one of the men lunged, drove her fist into his diaphragm. His friend whacked something hard against her already-injured head; her skull screamed in pain, she struck out blindly and hit Indigo Hair in the jaw, driving her to the ground. Latin Tattoo grabbed Indigo Hair’s knife and drove it into Barbara’s arm, then hit her in the face.

Barbara felt her teeth rattle, the inside flesh of her cheek tear, her mouth fill with blood.

The remaining men all grabbed her by the arms, pinning her, while Latin Tattoo held the reddened knife to her throat. She registered the pain in her arm, the blood seeping through her coat, the throbbing in her head and in her mouth. She barely had time to be grateful that Latin Tattoo had missed the axillary artery before Tanya pushed the muzzle of the gun into her face.

“Ain’t gonna kill you,” she snarled. “But hell, you gonna _wish_ you was dead.”

Barbara spat blood.

“Like I haven’t heard that before.”

“But _I_ fuckin’ _mean_ it.”

She loaded another round into the gun, then re-aimed the muzzle at the underside of Barbara’s abdomen.

Blinding fury was immediate. Her hands trembled, her vision went red around the edges with overwhelming rage; if that woman pulled that trigger, she wasn’t even going to fucking _try_ to stop herself from losing it, from doing something awful —

But a female voice from above shocked them all out of it.

“Hey. Ladies. Gentlemen. Anyone who’s neither. Why don’t we knock this the fuck off?”

The gangsters all looked shocked. Terrel looked up at the sky.

“God?”

“Mmm, close, but no.”

Even with the knife to her throat, Barbara looked up too.

She saw the female figure crouching on the nearest building’s fire escape, a second, quieter, not-much-smaller female figure beside her.

She recognized them both.

“What...how...” she managed to say. “How did you...what the hell are you doing here?”

The larger figure smiled.

 

* * *

 

_Thirteen Years Ago_

 

She was so frustrated she could barely breathe.

Dick was gone. He’d left Gotham, run off with his friends and a new collection of teammates — a shapeshifter, a witch, a cyborg, and a truly stunning alien woman. This woman, he’d told her while she was over at the Manor, helping him pack up his things, had apparently been enslaved by different aliens, before he and his friends had helped her free herself, and before she had kissed him (if only to learn English, of course). That she was good-hearted and ferocious and beautiful and seeking refuge on Earth, and he and his friends and these new individuals were going to help her find it. She’d seen his intent to leave this town and Bruce’s shadow, to drop out of college, and more than that, she’d seen the stars in his eyes as he went on and on about this Koriand’r.

But _that_ wasn’t what she was angry about.

Bruce had come home to find them packing, and, when Dick retold his story, promptly lost it. Yelling at him for throwing away his education, running away from home like a petulant child, reminding him that Gotham needed him, demanding to know if his friends and this strange alien woman that Dick didn’t know anything about were really worth throwing his life off-kilter. He needed Dick to stay, damn it, _they_ needed Dick to stay.

Then Dick started yelling too. Nine years’ worth of resentment all pouring out at once, the controlling, the spying, the lack of trust, the inability to express emotion. How dare he. How dare he, after Dick spent half his life putting up with that bullshit, actually think that he could take his wants seriously right now?

Barbara already knew his resentment. Sided with him, actually. But when she tried to speak up and they _both_ cut her off, she let them both know they were on their own in their feud.

_“Shout and slam the doors a little harder next time, Miss Barbara, I don’t think they quite heard you in Metropolis.”_

_“Sorry, Alfred. You can still hear them though, can’t you?”_

_“Indeed. I’m sorry it came to this, my dear. Though I cannot say I didn’t see it coming; Master Richard has been chafing under Master Bruce’s reins for years now.”_

_“Yeah, and I hate that Bruce is such a control freak too, but I stand by what I said: they both need to grow up. Look, maybe Bruce’ll benefit to having Robin out of town, to not being able to take him for granted. And maybe Dick’ll stop acting like a moody little bitch if he’s got his friends andKoriand’r around to influence him.”_

_“I hope so, Miss Barbara. For their sakes and that of those around them, I do hope so. I daresay though, I never could have foreseen this Miss...Koriand’r, is that her name? An_ alien _. Bloody hell.”_

_“Hey, different strokes and all that. And she seems cool, so, no judgement if he ends up with her. Besides, I used to think Batman had a thing for the big blue extraterrestrial Boy Scout Dick’s got posters of on his walls, and I gotta say, I’m not entirely convinced he never did.”_

_“My Lord. Though I doubt you were entirely wrong, Miss Barbara. Perhaps they might’ve become involved, someday, if Mr. Kent had never fallen in love with Ms. Lane...”_

_“All about what could’ve been, huh Alfie? Ha, imagine if I’d returned Dick’s crush — you know, if I’d fallen in love with him. Because I bet Bruce wishes he could protect him forever, that he had someone here to tie him down to Gotham, and away from the rest of the community...though what bullshit reasoning. Not like any one person could ever pull Dick away from his friends or from helping people.”_

_“I know you aren’t being serious about that particular scenario, but please know, though I have high hopes for this Miss Koriand’r: I would not mind if you had fallen in love with him, Miss Barbara. Not at all.”_

The conversation with Alfred had calmed her down somewhat, but she was still seething at her friend’s and mentor’s idiocy as she made her way back to her father’s house. Growling under her breath about how stupid men could be, she almost missed the bizarre phenomenon sitting on her father’s couch, reading a detective novel.

Barbara drew up short.

Another woman.

In her father’s house.

She had been the only female in her father’s house for eight years — but here this one was.

The other woman lifted her handsome head, looking at her, tilting it slightly to the side. She was a magnificent blonde in her forties with excellent bone structure, a lean, strong build, and lively, intelligent dark eyes. So unlike the delicate dark-haired women Jim had feebly attempted to date...or, of course, the one he’d been married to.

“Ah, you must be Barbara,” she greeted her, getting to her feet and moving fluidly over, extending her hand. Barbara took it, feeling rather faint, barely noticing the firm handshake, the rough-hewn callouses that contrasted against this woman’s graceful bearing. “I’m Essen. Sarah Essen.”

“You...ah...” Barbara withdrew her hand as if in a dream. “You work with my dad?”

Sarah Essen looked slightly embarrassed, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Well, I used to, for a while. Then I moved out to New York for a few years...anyway, long story short, I’ve just been transferred back, specifically to your dad’s office, and he just invited me over to catch up.”

“Catch up?”

“Yeah. Well. We kept in touch for a few years there, but...well, nothing compared to being together in person, I suppose. Especially not at work.” She smiled with exasperated fondness. “Damn. He was a workaholic then and a workaholic now.”

Realization hit her like a punch from Bane.

Her father had had  _feelings_ for this woman, this Sarah. And not only did Sarah know it, but she had more likely than not _returned_ those feelings.

What if those feelings hadn’t left? What if her father ended up dating her? God in heaven, Diana’s gods in Olympus, what if they ended up _married_?

Barbara sat down hard in the nearest armchair.

“Hey. Wow, hey, kiddo. Are you okay?”

In response, she buried her face in her hands.

She heard the footsteps on the floor, felt the touch against her shoulder.

“Barbara, are you alright?”

“Why do you care?” she retorted, more coldly than she’d really intended. “I mean, you’re someone from my dad’s past, who he’s never bothered to tell me about, I guess he must’ve returned the favor for me —”

“Whoa, hey.” Sarah’s hand didn’t leave her shoulder. “Your dad’s told me lots about you. I’ve only been back in Gotham two weeks and...well, I’ve pretty much heard your whole life story. Your dad cares about you; I promise he’s not doing this to hurt you.”

She felt embarrassed and angry at how easily her hurt had become obvious.

“What about you? It doesn’t bother you that a single, unattached woman now has to deal with her old flame’s twenty-one-year-old kid?”

Sarah didn’t bother to deny the “old flame” bit.

“Well, as long as he’s not going to come out and tell me that any of his kids are secretly mine, I think I’m good.”

Barbara actually managed to laugh, even if it came out choked.

“Damn. Okay then.”

Sarah said nothing else for a while, just kept rubbing her shoulder. Barbara eventually lifted her face from her hands, less angry, but still embarrassed that this woman she didn’t know had seen so much of her already.

“So...it must’ve been a long time to miss...to miss someone. How long has it been since you’ve seen my dad? Twenty —” She recalled when her parents had met and married, and decided on the year before that, “Twenty-three years?”

The hand on her shoulder stilled.

“Something like that.”

Barbara frowned, mostly to herself.

“Wait, no, because twenty-three years ago he was still in Chicago, and you said you met him in Gotham...”

Sarah glanced down.

Barbara understood immediately, recoiling in a mix of shock and dismay, sheer disappointment in her father. Instantly afterwards, she was struck by an even more appalling feeling: no matter how much she hated her mother, she suddenly understood, at least to some degree, Barbara Sr.’s resentment, her feelings of betrayal and pain, her disgust at Jim and some blonde whore named Sarah.

“Oh my God. My dad had an affair with you.”

Again, Sarah didn’t deny it. Just sighed, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

“This is a lot for a first meeting. But yes. Yes he did.”

The two of them looked intently at each other.

“This must’ve been when he was first transferred to Gotham, while he was still a lieutenant. When my mother was pregnant with my brother.”

“Yes again.”

Silence elapsed for a few more moments.

“You loved my dad, didn’t you.”

It wasn’t a question.

Sarah moved, so that she was positioned right in front of the armchair. Her dad’s former mistress then sat down on the floor, looking steadily upwards at Barbara.

“Yes. I did. And I do.”

Barbara tried to control her breathing.

“I’m not going to make any excuses for myself. You can tell me if you don’t think I should date him, or if you don’t like me at all for what I did. Go on.”

She opened her mouth, maybe to tell Sarah to get out, to never darken the Gordons’ doorstep again, that her father didn’t need romance and she definitely didn’t need any sort of mother.

“Love is so fucking stupid,” was what came out.

Sarah started. Her eyes grew wide.

Then she began to laugh.

Just soft giggles at first, like something from a little girl, then, quickly, louder chuckles, then full-bodied laughs, where she threw her head back with mirth at something so cynical from someone so young.

And to her surprise, Barbara couldn’t help but join her. That even with so much still churning inside her head, her shoulders suddenly felt lighter, her chest not quite as tight.

“That’s my line, kiddo,” Sarah chortled, wiping at her eyes. “I don’t have the best luck picking ‘em. But your dad says that _your_ boyfriend’s so vanilla he could flavor ice cream, and so straight-edged he can cut leather.”

“He’d like for me to date someone who’s simultaneously not any kind of danger to me and not easily intimidated.” She smiled. “Unfortunately, Jason may be a P.I., but when faced with my dad’s need for my well-being, he only fulfills the first requirement.” The smile dropped. “He’s a little _too_ adoring and straightlaced, actually. Too traditional sometimes, and too much pressure; I’m only twenty-one, I mean — ”

She clapped a hand over her mouth. But Sarah just nodded.

“Hey, I get it.”

“Good.” She paused, slipping back into cautiousness, gazing coolly at the older woman. “You’re not forgiven yet, you know.”

“I wouldn’t expect to be.” Sarah glanced towards the kitchen. “But in the meantime, I got here _way_ too early; your dad shouldn’t be home for another half hour or so. Want me to make some coffee?”

Barbara allowed herself just a single nod. But then she added:

“There’s some blueberry coffee cake left too, y’know...if you want to split that.”

As she sat down at the kitchen table with Sarah Essen, pouring the coffee and tearing into the cake, though she was definitely still suspicious, and though Sarah was far from perfect...between her honesty, her ballsiness, her lack of hypocrisy, and her obvious care for Jim, for the first time in a long time, Barbara felt she might be someday more than just comfortable around a significantly older woman.

If she dared to let down her guard, if she _dared_ to do that with her father’s partner, she might just feel good around her. Maybe even safe.

 

* * *

 

_Five-And-A-Half Years Ago_

 

“Anyway, now that _that’s_ done...I really am glad that you’re back in Gotham, Cassie.”

The image of poor murdered Kelly Nolan was still plastered across the screen of the Batcomputer. The men and boys had clustered into a group, Alfred offering dry congratulations, Bruce swiftly both questioning Jason about his newly-acquired boyfriend (which Jason answered with many, many expletives), and Dick about hooking back up with his ex-girlfriend (judging by how red his face was), i.e. her. Steph kept sneaking glances at Barbara and Cassandra over her shoulder in between demanding questions of her own, Tim still looked an odd mix of hopeful and uncomfortable, and Damian still looked outraged both about the dating and about the whole situation of having to cooperate with his adoptive family.

Cassandra, for her part, looked somber.

“They need me,” she replied. “Gotham needs me. Family needs me. Lost, adrift, relationships delicate...Jason still kills. He needs redemption; like Damian, like...me.”

They both looked over at Damian, bristling the way he did, standing up to try and make himself taller.

“Ra’s must’ve had a serious leash on Talia while that kid was growing up,” Barbara mused. “I’m by no means her biggest fan, but as long as I’ve been fighting against the al Ghuls, she was always so against children getting hurt. It’s one of only like, a handful of things that make her rebel against Ra’s, right up there with Bruce being in danger — because God knows she doesn’t rebel against her father for her own sake.”

“It’s like that,” Cass said matter-of-factly. “They never do wrong...you think. You...justify what they do. Blind with love. Even if they do something...awful, past your limits, you need to give...yourself the wake-up call.”

Barbara shook her head.

“Talia hasn’t given herself that wake-up call yet, I guess. Not even for her own kid.”

“Do not...be hard on her. You are different people. You will be...are...different kinds of mothers. Different circumstances.”

Barbara took the younger woman’s slim, rough hand in her own.

“You know how I feel about you, Cass,” she said shortly. “But I’m still not sure if I’d ever really be fit to have — you know. Actual children.”

“Don’t...sell yourself short. Can get better. Everyone can. You are even...back in love.” Cass’s black eyes seemed to glow. “Or were never even _out_.”

Her treacherous heart fluttered at the unacknowledged truth. At remembering what the life-or-death scenario with her brother had dredged back up: the love, the protectiveness, the care, all that had reemerged when she’d never thought she’d acknowledge it again. The sleepless nights that followed, wracked with indecision. The phone call at two in the morning, made so much more agonizing by by that it was _her_ who’d called _him_ , asking for what she probably didn’t deserve and yet what he was still so willing to give: a second chance.

Like Cass had said. Redemption.

Maybe this _would_ be worth it. Because either way, her love hadn’t left, and right then, him and his family, the objects of her love, didn’t seem like they were going to leave her.

She tried to squash those thoughts back down again.

“That’s beside the point, Cassie. The point is that we’re all together now, for the first time ever, because our city needs every one of us, and we need to not kill each other.”

“We will not kill each other,” Cass said firmly. “Jason tries anything...I slap him on the head. Give him concussions.”

Barbara couldn’t help but smile, even as her heart ached. She had missed Steph, and then she had missed Cass. Missed each girl in turn so bad it had hurt, every single day, just like Jason’s death had left her shaken to her core, and just like how every night Tim was on his solo quest she had lain awake and worried about him. With the girls though, it was a different kind of hurt, she suddenly realized: the ache of thinking she hadn’t done enough for them, the ache of a woman who’d been left by the children she’d cared for, and the special ache of when the two coincided.

So, okay then, her love and her guilt never really _had_ left her, in any case. Her feelings never really had gone away. Maybe they never would. It seemed that what was in her heart lasted far, far longer than she could’ve guessed; just as long what was in her head.

How horrible.

“That’s the spirit.” She squeezed her hand, trying not to think about Cass reading her body language. “C’mon. I’ll open the training room in the Clock Tower back up to you.”

“Good. I wanted to...kick your ass. In your own home.”

They laughed some more, but it didn’t make the pain or regret go away.

In that moment, though she had no reason to, she thought of Dinah. Of something she’d said, what now seemed so long ago.

 _I can’t let fear keep me from a chance at happiness,_ her best friend had decided, the words still echoing in Barbara’s head. _I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering what_ might’ve _been. Like you and Nightwing._

 _God help me for thinking this, Dinah. But maybe we’re not just opposites for no reason. Maybe we challenge each other, make each other better. Maybe you make me want to live up to what you say and do. Maybe I should. Maybe I know what I have to do, at least a little bit, and maybe it’s because of you, because you remind me that I have_ enough _regrets, but I also have that chance at happiness again now._

_But Dinah? That chance at happiness is the scariest fucking part._

 

* * *

 

It couldn’t be.

But it was.

Dinah Laurel Lance, age forty, in full uniform, leapt from the fire escape like a she-hawk in dive, her landing making the pavement shudder. She stood to her full height, proud and bright, smirking cheerfully, near-arrogantly, at the stunned gangsters, the way she’d always done. Her black leather uniform and long black coat stood out against her white-and-gold coloring, her black boots heavy and good for kicking, her makeup and hair impeccable. The muscles in her body were still hard and powerful; the wrinkles around her sky-colored eyes did nothing to diminish her beauty.

“Fucking _Black_ _Canary_?” Latin Tattoo shrieked.

But what was even more shocking was the strong-looking teenage girl in white linen and a long white coat that leapt to the ground next to her.

“Forget Canary,” said one of the male gangsters, goggling at the terrifyingly serene sixteen-year-old, “who the hell is the kid?”

“Not another Batgirl,” Tanya groaned, pressing the side of her gun to her forehead, “I hate Batgirls. I’m fuckin’ sick of Batgirls.”

Next to her adoptive mother, Sin Lance blinked almost innocently and tilted her head, birdlike.

“I am not Batgirl. But you will wish that I was.”

“You said it, kiddo,” Dinah agreed, her smirk growing. She folded her arms across her chest, voice rising. “Okay, here’s how it is, guys and gals and assorted other pals. You let the nice pregnant lady go, and we leave you alone. You don’t...” She bared her teeth in something like a smile, something known to chill brave men to the marrow.“Let’s just say the kid here and I are opposed to killing, but we are not opposed to putting you to in hospital. In a full body cast. Eating through a straw.”

“She means that she and I will beat you so that you will have no teeth or intact jawbones with which to chew solids,” Sin explained helpfully. “Though it will have to be a big straw, because even mashed solid food is hard to drink up through a little straw, and —”

“This is for family only!” one of the men shouted. “For the love of family! Not for goddamn superhero bitches! Get the fuck lost, lady, and take your creepy brat with you!”

 _Exceptionally_ foolish, even by Gotham criminal standards.

Dinah’s teeth remained bared. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

Sin and Barbara both knew immediately to cover their ears, which they did. The gangsters, however, were still unaware during the split second between when she finished taking her breath —

— and when the scream rang out through the East End.

_EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE —_

Even with her hands clamped over her ears, eyes squeezed shut, Barbara felt the blast of the Canary Cry ripple over her, strong enough to blow back her hair and rattle her wheelchair, then she felt the hands vanish from her shoulders and the knife from her throat, and, through her fingers, heard the subsequent wails of pain from the gangsters.

“My ears! Oh God, my ears —”

“Muh node id bleeding!”

“I can’t hear! I can’t hear!”

She opened her eyes, seeing Sin standing before the scene, her calm expression having turned sad, sympathetic. In front of the girl, most of the gangsters were still on their feet, clutching their ringing ears and shouted to each other, but Tanya was on her knees, a look of dawning comprehension and horror on her face. So brought low for someone who’d been so certain in what she was doing.

Despite everything, despite her righteous rage, Barbara felt almost sorry for her.

Not that she showed it, staring down at her attackers like a marble statue of Athena while her friend spoke up again.

“You all wanna let her go now?”

They listened to the Black Canary this time. Every one of the gangsters frantically grabbed their things and their unconscious companions before running off, disappearing into the neon and shadows and swirling snow just like Pete had, and so many Gotham criminals before.

Dinah huffed gently, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes.

“Well, that went well. But I’m fucking cold.”

“Maybe you should have worn pants,” Sin suggested guilelessly, the snowflakes dotting her black hair. “And a thicker coat?”

“Hmph.”

Barbara threw up her hands.

“Wait, wait, wait. Stop. Stop everything.”

Her best friend turned and looked at her again.

“Oh, Babs, sorry. I didn’t mean to be ignoring you. It’s just...came here straight from California, you know? Probably didn’t pack super wisely.” She wrapped her arms around her chest, hair swirling around her shoulders in the cold wind. Her eyes were like the Pacific in July, glittering, shining with warmth. “But...you know...I wanted us and our daughters to be together.”

Sin emerged from around Dinah’s arm, moving closer now that the excitement was over, staring openly and intently like a much younger girl, like she’d never seen a pregnant woman before. Which she probably hadn’t.

“Hello,” she said solemnly, eyes crinkling. “It is good to meet you. Sister — my mom — has told me so much about you. And hello to you as well, little cousin.”

The other two of them probably would’ve liked to know that the baby had kicked or even moved at all in response to Sin’s greeting. Honestly, she was too shocked and blindsided right then to notice if she had.

“Dinah, you’re not supposed to be — how did you — why did you —”

Dinah braced her hands on her hips, dropping her head and exhaling hard.

“Lotta shit to explain, Babs.”

Barbara smiled bitterly.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Then she looked at Sin again, and the smile became more genuine. She reminded her of Cass as a teenager, with eyes too old for someone barely more than a girl, who knew and understood the cruelty and arbitrariness of the world, but nonetheless loved and did not judge.

“May I confess first? We lied to those men and women. She fights, but I do not. I was born to replace Lady Shiva, to kill, but I was raised to have and keep peace. I am no one’s weapon.”

Maybe this one wasn’t entirely like Cass after all. She wasn’t like how she was born to be, but she wasn’t like her loved ones either. Not a killer like her girlhood trainers, not a warrior like her mother, a totally different person. But she could see none of her trainers’ and all of her mother’s influence in her, that proud, free, stubborn streak that had prevented her mother and now prevented either of them from being ruled by anybody or anything in the world.

Dinah rested a hand on the girl’s — young woman’s, now — shoulder.

“I know I didn’t let on yesterday, but it’s been a rough couple days, Babs. I really needed to come to Gotham early. Can we go home with you?”

Home.

Confronting her loved ones.

She swallowed hard at the thought, her hands trembling.

“Yeah. Okay, Lances. Let’s go home.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi.
> 
> I'm sorry. I have nothing to say for myself.

The Clock Tower was empty and dark when the three of them stepped foot in it. The clocks on the stove and her computers blinked _12:17_ in white and green, and the swirling snow was still piling up on her windows and balcony. Barbara shivered, removing and hanging up her coat, understanding that Bruce was still watching her sons, that Dick had gone out on patrol. 

“Mom said there were more people,” Sin remarked, peering around as though the rest of the family would just materialize out of the shadows. 

“There are. They’re just...not here right now.”

She didn’t have to turn around to know that Dinah’s eyes were suddenly on her. 

“I don’t have a lot of room for guests right now, I’m sorry. I only really expanded to make room for the baby, gear, and weapons...I guess one of you can —”

“I sleep on the floor,” Sin declared.

“Sin —”

“I sleep on the floor,” she insisted, shrugging off her coat and tossing her small suitcase onto the nearest armchair. In just her white linen robes, she stretched out across the carpet next to the dog and cat, and was asleep in seconds. Her silky black hair fell over her face, fluttering back and forth from her face as she snored quietly.

“Fuck, but she’s still cute,” Dinah murmured, dropping her own suitcases all over the floor.

Barbara finally turned and looked at her best friend. Her heart pounded against her throat; she swallowed hard, trying to keep her breathing steady. 

“I — I have so many questions. How is Sin out here with you, and not at the monastery, when the League of Assassins is still on her tail? Why were you in the East End with your daughter —?”

“I don’t know _how_ . She just...turned up at my door as I was leaving for the airport; she doesn’t know why the monastery let her go either. Something about their being certain that she was safe now… And to answer your second question, we were in the East End because we followed you from the train station stop downtown. You must’ve been really distracted to not notice. And speaking of which, _I_ have some questions too.” 

Dinah shrugged away her coat and kicked off her boots in the vague direction of the door. 

“Where’re your husband and kids? Why were you picking fights with pedos and gang members? And most importantly, what the hell were you doing, wandering around the city and moping around the East End in the middle of the night the first place?”

Barbara drew back.

“My — that is _none_ of your business,” she snapped. “And I was _not_ moping.”

“Oh please.” She tossed her mane of fair hair over her shoulders, brushing it away from her face. Barbara absently found herself focusing, not for the first time, on the new laughter lines around her friend’s eyes. “‘None of my business’? Your business is my business and you know it.”

Barbara held up her hands; they shook slightly.

“I can’t do this right now.” It was half to herself. “I — I just cannot do this right now. It’s too much, I’m not going to talk about it, there’s just too much —” She began to roll away to her bedroom. 

Dinah was too quick, appearing in front of her and swiftly bending down, grabbing her armrests.

“Barbara.” Her voice was firm. Her eyes met Barbara’s head on, barely even blinking in their intensity. They were so close that she could feel her best friend’s breath on her skin. 

“Dinah. Let me go.”

“No.” 

Neither woman looked away. Their chests almost seemed to rise and fall in sync as they stared into each others’ eyes

“Babs.” Dinah’s voice had become gentle, but in the quiet apartment, it still seemed as noticeable and important as thunder. “Something’s wrong.”

Barbara shuddered.

“Babs.” She blinked slowly, mascaraed lashes fluttering over blue eyes. “Talk to me. Please.”

It was that soft, almost whispered, please that undid her.

She shuddered again, feeling herself seem to crumple. She wrapped her arms around herself, her breaths unsteady, trying not to completely come apart again.

“Alright. Here — here’s what happened.”

 

* * *

 

_Twelve-and-a-Half Years Ago_

 

Barbara had to admit, the new iteration of the Teen Titans’ base was rather impressive. Sitting on the rooftop, her booted feet dangling hundreds of feet above the little island, San Francisco to her back, the Pacific Ocean sprawling endlessly before her. The tower moved and creaked softly under the gusty, briny sea breeze, and she relished the feeling of being so high up, and of having real summer sunlight on her face.

The two people sitting to her left seemed to agree. 

“Is this not beautiful?” enthused the stunningly tall, curvaceous woman next to her. Though Barbara was still in her Batgirl suit, her companions had changed into streetwear — in this woman’s case, cutoff shorts and a purple crop top, gold bangles on her wrists and hoops in her ears, her massive red curls flowing free down her back. Barbara had to make an effort not to stare or blush. “Look at it.”

She made a sweeping gesture over the horizon, as if to illuminate the little orange and white boats emerging from the harbor, the tiny v-shaped silhouettes of the calling seabirds and the round black shapes of diving seals. The glittering blue ocean, the white-gold sun.

“Your Earth is still so strange to me. But much of it is so wonderful too.”

Koriand’r turned to her own left, where Dick was wrapped under her arm. His eyes glittered in the sun just like the sea; he’d gotten tanner since he’d left, his hair had grown out past his jaw, and he’d traded his usual “well-behaved billionaire’s child prodigy” clothes for faded jeans and a short-sleeved pink button-up printed with purple flowers and green foliage. Most importantly, he never seemed to take his eyes off his girlfriend; just openly gazed at this alien princess with awe in his expression and the softest kind of warmth in his eyes.

Barbara wondered if she had ever openly allowed herself to look at someone like that.

She didn’t think so.

“It’s definitely pretty,” she agreed, swinging her feet in the open air like a little girl, like it was her first time so far up. “Though I have to wonder about the structural integrity of this building.”

They looked at her. 

“I mean, a giant tower shaped like a ‘T’? You guys’ Kryptonite is your own top-heaviness and your mortal enemy is a strong gust of wind.”

Dick burst out laughing. Kori smiled.

“Dick, you did not tell me she was funny.”

“Oh, you guys talk about me?”

“Often. Until today, you were the only one of his best friends I had not met.”

Her heart warmed. Dick brushed some hair out of his eyes, shaking his head back.

“Yeah, she’s right. And don’t get on _my_ case about the tower; take it up with Vic, his dad designed the place.”

 _Poor Vic,_ she thought, remembering the half-robot teenager who’d greeted her at the door, how Donna had pulled her aside and explained his backstory. She couldn’t imagine going on living after such a traumatic accident, living in a shell of your former body. Not being able to be who you were or do what you’d loved. 

Barbara tossed her hair back, stretching, relishing the sensations of her muscles flexing and the warm sun bathing her whole body. 

“Good to know. So...what do you tell her about me? All bad things, I hope.”

“He had told me that you made him happy, made him feel grounded in a difficult, unpredictable life,” Kori spoke up. “That having you as his friend, partner, and confidante made his job as Robin much better, and his life much richer.”

Barbara’s mouth fell open.

Dick blushed, ducking his head.

“He also told me that he used to have a — what is the human term? Ah, yes —  _crush_ on you.” Kori tilted her head, those glowing, pupil-less eyes holding no deceit. “And I can see why. You seem a marvelous woman.”

“You — you too,” Barbara managed to say. Her face felt like it was on fire. “I can’t believe you just told me all that. I was kidding.”

“But I was not.” Kori got to her feet, leaning slightly over the open air. “And why would I not tell you? I think it must be true.”

Then she stepped forward and leapt over the side —

— swooping down towards the ocean, then all but vanishing into the sunlight. Her cries of joy echoed across the bay as she flew, spiraling through the sky like an orange-and-red comet. 

Barbara shook her head, still reeling.

“She’s something else,” she murmured. “Like...wow.”

“I know, right?” Dick scooched closer, until they were sitting side-by-side like they’d always done as teenagers. “God...” His eyes didn’t leave the swooping form of his girlfriend. “I love her so much, Babs. I didn’t know it was possible to love someone so much.”

“Really? Because _I_ think you always had it in you to love a lot,” she replied. 

They sat together in quiet for a couple minutes. Her in her uniform, him in his pink Hawaiian shirt and faded jeans, both of them watching Kori fly down until she all but joined a pod of diving sea lions. 

“So...” he asked tentatively. “How’s the new kid? Is he liking the Tower?”

“Oh, I couldn’t pry him away from this place. He’s been tailing after Donna and Raven all day, asking questions about their powers and Azarath and Themyscira, and last I saw him before I came up here he was playing video games with Garfield and Victor while eating Wally’s pizza.”

He laughed softly.

“Wow, it seems the little wing fits right in already.”

“Without a doubt. And speaking of Jasons...” She paused. Her own love life seemed to rather...pale in comparison to Dick’s. He and Kori had so much romance, so much passion, sharing everything about their lives with each other. Jason was sweet and loving, and she liked being with him, but she just didn’t have that.

 _Is that because of me?_ she wondered. _I’m not like Kori. I’m not upfront with my life or my feelings. She’s just so open and unapologetic about everything, and I haven’t even told the man I’ve been with for a year and a half that I’m Batgirl._

“He’s taking me to the Berkshires for a week. And he’s asked me to move in with him.”

“Wow.” Dick tucked his feet up on the ledge. “Things getting serious, huh?”

“I turned him down.”

Dick’s eyebrows shot up.

“You didn’t turn down the Berkshires at least, did you?”

She didn’t joke back.

“I’m not ready to move in with someone yet. That’s a big commitment, and I’m not sure if he realizes that.”

“Well, he should, you’re right. It _is_ a big commitment, and you shouldn’t take it lightly.”

“This coming from the guy who’s living with a woman he’s known for less than a year.”

He smirked faintly.

“Point. But I’m also living with a bunch of _teenagers_ I’ve known for that same amount of time, so you can decide for yourself which is crazier. Getting back to my point, like I said it’s big, and you shouldn’t take it lightly, but, well, do you love him?”

“Yes.” Her voice was soft. “I love him.”

“Well, then, if you love him, you gotta take that leap sooner or later. Love doesn’t exist in a vacuum, you gotta take action, gotta actively work to hold onto it and keep it alive.”

She marveled at his calm conviction.

“Who are you, and what has she done to Dick Grayson?”

“Hey, I had to learn this the hard way. We had a _lot_ of disagreements and culture clashes for a while there.” He rested his chin on his knees. “God, I fucked it all up sometimes...it’s amazing that someone like her still loves me.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” she said softly. 

He took her hand, squeezing. She held back, surprised to be there, but happy to be, everything that Kori had said that she was to him. 

No sooner had she thought that when Kori flew up to them. 

“Good flight?”

“Yes, as always.” She flexed her strong arms over her head, combing her hair back. Then she leaned down and kissed Dick for several seconds; Barbara watched as both of them seemed to melt into each other’s touch. When she withdrew, Dick’s mouth was stained with lipstick like wine. “Now, I would like to meet this new Robin.”

Barbara smiled.

“He’s gonna adore you, and I don’t blame him one bit.”

Kori offered another kiss, this time to her cheek. Barbara touched the lipstick mark just below the edge of her cowl; it seemed to burn her skin, just like the summer sun. 

 

* * *

 

_Five-and-a-Half Years Ago_

 

Her father wordlessly opened the door for her. 

Jim seemed to have aged ten years over the last few days. Behind his glasses, his eyes roved over his only daughter, still not quite able to believe that she had lived, survived their family’s latest ordeal. He had looked at her like that _so_ many times over the years.

She smoothed down the front of her long black skirt, under which her bandages still lay, and rolled into the jail.

Her brother was seated on the bench of his holding cell, hands folded carefully in his lap, the lenses of his glasses glinting in the dim light. He looked so much like a younger copy of their father, the same red hair, the same-shaped jaw, the same brown eyes with the same poor eyesight. But James’ eyes held none of their father’s warmth. None of his passion, his determination, his love. They were as cold as stone. 

“Hello, Dad. Hello, big sister.” His voice was level. “I don’t suppose you’re here to drop the charges?”

Barbara didn’t want to hurt Jim any more. Didn’t want to see any more of the pain in his eyes that had come with having to see his own son as a murderer, with having to stop him. 

But she felt no such sympathy for her brother. 

“I’m here to tell you that you’re a monster,” she said, her own voice like ice. “It’s no diagnosis that’s to blame for what you’ve done. You’re just a disgusting, despicable excuse for a human being. I always knew, you always were, and you always will be. And I will _relish_ knowing that you’re going to spend the rest of your life rotting in prison.”

“Well. That’s no way to talk to family,” he returned mildly. 

“Family?” Jim burst out. He ran forward, reaching out — then stopped, his hand an inch away from the bars. “ _Family?_ James, you tried to kill your own sister.”

“My sister? She’s only my sister because you took pity on her, Dad.” He shrugged. “Don’t deny it. It’s just the truth. Like how you always loved her best.”

“Always loved — _that’s_ what this is about?” Barbara asked, disgusted. “You were _jealous_ of me?”

“No. Of course not.” He folded his legs. “Just the truth. He loved you and so had nothing left for me. Like how Mom loved _me_ and so had nothing left for _you_.”

Barbara flinched. 

And for the first time, James smiled.

“James, that’s not true,” Jim protested. “I love you. You’re my son. I’ll always love you.”

“But you love Gotham and my sister more.” Her brother shook his head. “It’s okay Dad. I get it. Why would a seasoned old cop feel anything but horror for — how did you put it, Babs?”

“Don’t call me Babs,” she snarled. 

“‘A disgusting, despicable excuse for a human being,’” he quoted. “It’s alright. Makes sense you’d have no room left for love.”

“Like _you_ know anything about love.”

“And _you_ do, dear sister?”

“So why try to kill or disfigure your mother?” Jim interjected. “You’re right in that she loves you. She loves you more than anyone or anything, always has.”

 _Don’t I know it,_ Barbara thought bitterly. _It wasn’t Dad, it was_ her _who used up all her love on one person...ha, I always said Mom would let James get away with murder._  

“How could you do that to your own mother?” Jim finished.

“It wasn’t personal or anything,” James protested mildly. “She was just in the way. I’m actually grateful to Mom. Really. She raised me, after all. And she’s the only one I knew who treated my sister like the — now how did she put it? — ‘disobedient, arrogant, pushy, self-righteous little brat’ she was instead of acting like you, like she walked on air.”

Barbara swallowed down the rocks that seemed to have manifested in her throat, willing her eyes to stay dry, to be like flint.

“Your mother never said that,” Jim said angrily. 

“Oh yes, she did. To herself, when she thought no one was listening.” James leaned back against the concrete wall. He looked as comfortable as ever, as if he weren’t in a cell. “Mother’s love. Who can fathom it, yes?”

“You think you can hurt me with Mom?” Barbara slammed her hands against the bars, making them rattle, making him flinch ever so slightly, then making his eyebrows gather together in anger, taking a nasty little sense of pleasure in how his cool facade had been shattered. “I don’t give a damn about Mom. And I don’t give a damn what you or she ever thought of me. I am here for one reason, and for one reason only, and that’s to make sure that the charges stick. I want you to go to Blackgate, and then I want to make sure that I never see your face again.”

Before Jim could protest again, her brother was on his feet. He moved to the bars as swiftly as a snake, leaning in so that his sister, and only his sister, could hear his whispered words.

“Oh, how you hate me, big sister. How we Gordons hate each other. How Dad resented his brother Roger, the man who sired you, for getting all his father’s attention, and leaving none for Dad. How Dad’s always been in anguish over me, for not being a darling like what he thought you were. How you resent Roger and Thelma for not loving you enough, then leaving you alone before they could change their ways. How Mom resented you so much for intruding upon her life, and Dad for bringing in that intrusion, when she already felt wronged enough by him. And how you in turn hate Mom for never stopping thinking of you as that intrusion.” She could almost hear his smile. “I know about your little _friend_ Dick Grayson. The man currently under the big scary Bat cowl. He must really love you to hate me so much, and yet to still stop pursuing me, just to save you. I wonder: does he really know what he’s getting into? Does he really know about our family? And sweet sister, tell me, does he really know about _you?_ ”

Barbara withdrew from the cell, staring at him with every bit of the vitriol she felt.

“I was right,” she concluded. “You really know nothing about love.”

“Guess our family all have that in common.” Her brother finally withdrew.

While they left, she and Jim grasped each other’s hands like lifelines. Her father, her tough, patient, unflappable father who had been dealing with the Batman himself since she was tiny, was crying. Tears streaked from under his glasses down his cheeks; he ignored the other cops going in and out of the station behind them, clutching his daughter’s hand like she was the last living person in the world.

Finally away from James, Barbara’s eyes were prickling too. 

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he said gruffly, voice cracking with tears. “I — I thought I knew my own son. I didn’t know shit.”

Her grip tightened. 

“You’re not a bad father, you know,” she told him. She wanted to let it all spill out, how much he’d meant to her over all those years, offering her shelter, raising her, protecting her, never perfect, but nonetheless, never failing to give her the love she’d desperately needed. “You...he’s wrong about you. I know you love us both. I know you did your best.”

Even though she didn’t think her brother deserved it. 

Her father said nothing at first.

Then he knelt a little awkwardly, till both his arms were wrapped around her shoulders and, like so many times before, she was once again enveloped in the musty smell of his coat, the sharp, spicy scent of his cologne, and his solid, omnipresent warmth. 

A couple of Barbara’s tears leaked out. 

“Jim? Babs?”

They looked up in unison. 

Sarah. Standing there on the icy curb before them in her jeans and blouse and the long coat that had made it even through No Man’s Land, having just emerged from her car. Sympathy and the faintest inkling of righteous anger colored her expression. 

Jim moved forward at once, now wrapping his wife in his arms. Their steaming breaths mingling and forming a single cloud, their embrace a defiance of the bitter cold and miserable circumstances. 

Barbara’s heart still ached.

 

* * *

 

Dinah interrupted the story.

“I can’t believe it. That she would have the _gall_ to fucking ask you to — wait, so did you go to the hotel? What did you say to her? What did you do?”

Still looking at the floor, Barbara shrugged faintly.

“What would you have done?”

“If it were _my_ mom, you mean?” Dinah released the armrests, finally standing up straight again. “If she had apologized for all those years of...well. Having me as a lower priority than her job. Trying to stop me from going into it when she retired. Never really accepting me as I am....” Dinah’s eyes suddenly looked very far away. Anger twitched across her face. Just for a moment. “I’d welcome her with open arms. I miss her so much, Babs, even after all these years. I’d give _anything_ for her to be alive again, much less for her to apologize to me. I still love her; I know, I, I know I’d forgive her.”

Barbara huffed without much energy, resting her cheek on her hand.

“I knew you’d say that.”

Dinah sighed, wrapping her arms around herself. Her eyes still looked far away, lost in memories. 

“I remember...” Barbara continued. “When you and Ollie were getting married, you told me you wished your mom could’ve been there for your wedding. And...” She took a deep breath, letting it all out in one soft breath. “When you adopted Sin...” 

Both women turned and looked at the sleeping teenage girl. Her breathing was gentle and even, and Odie had curled up against her stomach, tail wrapped around his nose, his sides expanding and contracting in time with hers. Black cat hairs were already rubbing off onto her white robes and her head was flat against the linoleum floor; she looked happier and more peaceful in her sleep than she had ever been. 

“...You said that she was the granddaughter your mom had always wanted.”

Dinah nodded.

“Yeah. Mom never met Ollie; she never met Hal, Roy, Mia, Emiko, Connor, Lian, Diana, Bruce, Clark, Zatanna, Ted, Booster, Kimiyo, Ralph, Sue, J’onn, Helena, Zinda, Bea, Tora, Shayera and then Kendra, Barda, Scott, hell, even fucking _Guy_.” Dinah’s eyes refocused on her best friend; blue eyes suddenly very intent. “And Mom never met _you_. But even if she’d never met all my friends, all my loves, I wish she had lived to see my daughter, at least.”

“I figured.” Weary, Barbara rubbed her forehead. “Do you want to hear the rest of the story?”

“Of course.”

 

* * *

 

_Twelve Years Ago_

 

As it turned out, the Falcones really had been serious about wanting to cripple the Maronis’ workforce.

Deadly serious.

Barbara stared around at the scene in numb horror. The men lying around her had been killers and thieves, hardened criminals, working for the Maroni crime family simply for the easy money. But now that they were bloodied corpses, slumped and leaking pools of red all over the furniture and cheap linoleum, eyes open and mouths round with shock, she couldn’t help but despair over the senseless butchering. 

Especially as it had taken place in one of the men’s very apartment. 

Little Robin, with his curly hair and often-bandaged cheeks, usually so brash for a thirteen-year-old, stayed by her side, swallowing hard. 

“Fuck me.”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I feel the same way.”

Jason shook his head, settling into resignation. He was so short, so thin from years of malnourishment, and so unsurprised by this sort of thing, she often felt the urge to take him in her arms, shield him from seeing any more horrors. He’d had enough of that, she thought.

“How we gonna pin this one on the Falcones? Whoever did this shit’s just gonna walk, like they always do.”

“Not necessarily.” Her voice sounded shaky, even to her. Even after four years of crime-fighting. “Holiday, the serial killer, he was a Falcone. And _he_ didn’t walk.”

“Barbie, that was _ten years ago_ ,” Jason protested. “Can you think of _anything_ that happened more recently?”

She was about to answer when a sharp cry arose from a nearby room. For a moment, she thought it was a cat yowling for food. Then she realized, and her blood froze.

Jason realized too.

“Man Barbie, that’s a fuckin’ baby.”

They looked at each other. Then they darted across the living room, picking their way around the corpses. Jason vaulted over one body and sped into the room the noise was coming from, but Barbara paused, looking into the dead man’s face. His name was Tony Rogetti, the apartment’s owner. He’d invited his coworkers, his friends, his fellow employees of the Maronis over for a friendly game of poker, intending to drink a little, smoke a little, have a good time. 

He’d made it very, very easy for the Falcones to kill them.

She walked around Rogetti’s body and followed Jason into the bedroom.

Sure enough, a crib had been set up in the middle of the room. The walls were papered in pink, with printed designs of flowers and bunny rabbits running up and down them. A baby monitor had been set up nearby, with plushie toys — a giraffe and a monkey — leaning against it. Jason was hovering over the crib, staring, and Barbara joined him. 

The baby was a chubby little creature in a yellow onesie with tufty black hair and black eyes, its face scrunched up as it cried. Lying on its back, it rolled back and forth helplessly, wailing for...something.

“Do something,” Jason said abruptly.

“ _What?_ ” 

“Well, I don’t know anything about babies. _You_ gotta do something.”

“I — Jason, just because I have breasts doesn’t mean _I_ know anything about babies either.”

“Well _someone’s_ gotta do _something_ . And frankly, I think _I’ll_ just scare her.”

“What makes you think it’s a her?”

Jason eyed the pink walls.

“Point taken. Alright, fine, give me the damn baby.”

He scooped her out of her crib, passing her to Barbara. She cradled the baby awkwardly, holding up her head, alarmed by how weak her neck was, how small and soft she was.

“B’s file on Rogetti _did_ say he had a daughter.” Jason eyed the crying child. “Serena, I think her name was?”

Barbara rocked the baby back and forth, trying not to be frantic, wondering _why_ Serena Rogetti was crying, wishing she knew what to do.

“Do we know where her mother is?”

Jason scratched his head, then sighed. 

“Fuckin’ hell. File said the mom skipped out after Serena was born, went back to her husband in Newark.”

Acid rose in Barbara’s throat.

“Figures. Fucking figures.”

“Yes. And that’s where _I_ come in.”

Jason and Barbara both jumped. 

Coming through the window was a tall woman in purple and black, her face masked, a silver cross dangling from her collarbone, a faint Italian accent still clinging to her words. 

Huntress extended her arms.

“Alright, Batgirl. Give me the baby.”

Barbara pulled the baby closer. Jason pulled out a birdarang.

Huntress’s eyes narrowed through her mask.

“I’m not joking. Give me the baby.”

“What, so you can drop her off a bridge? No thank you, you psychopath.”

“I only kill people who deserve it, you bootlicking sycophant,” Huntress retorted acidly. “I heard about what the Falcones did. I know what it’s like to be orphaned by this city’s mobs and gangs and their incessant jockeying for power. I’ll take her back to Italy, to people I know can care for her.”

The baby’s cries had died down to whimpers; her small fingers clutched the front of Barbara’s uniform. A strange surge of protectiveness rose in her chest. 

“Over my _dead body_ will you take a baby to the people who taught you how to kill.”

Huntress made a sharp, furious noise in her throat. 

“Why do you do that, Batgirl? Just because I don’t bend over backwards for Batman and his antiquated rules and morality, you make me out to be some kind of rabid maniac.” Her dark eyes sparked. “Despite what you may think, I _don’t_ kill indiscriminately. I have rules. I have a code. They’re just not Batman’s. They’re _mine_. Whereas _you?_ You’re basically his lapdog.”

“You shut the hell up.”

Huntress wasn’t done.

“No one thinks of you as an individual, you know,” she taunted. “No one thinks of you except in relation to him and the Robins. You’re just the cheap girly knock-off, a silly little girl playing dress-up to get with the _real_ heroes, and that’s _all_ you’ll _ever_ be.”

Barbara could feel her face turning red; felt the words hit home. But she forced down the hurt and insecurity and let her voice go cold.  

“Is being an individual worth it? Because no one will ever be willing to overlook your _code_ , Huntress,” she spat. “You will never have a place at anyone’s table. No other hero or team will ever want you associated with them. No one in this community will _ever_ accept you. You are _alone_ , and you _always will be_.”

Huntress flinched, hard, and Barbara felt perversely satisfied with herself. 

When the other woman regained her composure, she affixed Barbara with a look of absolute hatred. 

“Better to be alone than to be with someone like _you_.”

Her dark cape flapped out, and she vanished from the window. 

Jason exhaled hard.

“Jesus. Remind _me_ never to piss you off like that.”

Barbara finally took a deep breath, regaining her composure. The baby’s cries had finally died down now, and she snuggled up against Barbara’s chest, leaning into the warmth and human companionship.

“I could never reject any of _you_  guys, Jason. Especially not you.” She cradled Serena, looking down into the baby’s face. “Okay. We’ll figure out how to get justice for her dad. She’ll be okay. Bruce can streamline her adoption process. She...she’ll go to a good family.”

The baby blinked up at her, innocent and devoted.

Suddenly, Barbara felt uncomfortable, undeserving of such a feeling, of having someone so small’s well-being in her hands. To have someone rely on her, to have someone put so much faith in her, especially a baby, was something she felt unworthy of.

“Jason, can you hold her while I call Bruce?”

“Uh, I —”

She placed Serena into his arms, reaching up to click her com. 

“Alright. Y’know,” Jason mused, almost unaware that he was speaking out loud, arranging his arms as best he could, Serena batting her little hand against the _‘R’_ on his chest, “Maybe it’s for the best. The Falcones are evil predatory assholes, yeah, but who knows how many innocent people were killed by Serena’s dad and his friends? Maybe it’s good she lost him. I mean, I won’t say he deserved to die, but…”

Her hand stilled above the com.

 

* * *

 

_Five-And-A-Half Years Ago_

 

It was eleven o’clock on a warm June night when Bruce asked her to do it.

Asked her to take a monumental risk, to, in the name of his return from being lost in time, wipe the slate clean. To attempt to heal old wounds that might not be able to be healed. 

And she did it. 

But when she placed the call, when she patched him through, her hands were shaking, shoulders tight with shock and incredulity. She had to take a deep breath, to brace herself as she waited for the answer.

Six voices answered her call in unison.

“Oracle?” Four male. Two female. 

They all recognized each others’ voices a second later. A second more, and they all started arguing. 

“What...is Red Hood doing on this call?” Cass demanded. 

“I second that!” Tim yelled. “And I refuse to be on call with Robin when he’s acting like this.”

“Believe me Drake, I don’t want to be on call with _any_ of you,” Damian snapped. 

“Damn, I expected this from Replacement and Demon Brat, but c’mon, Cassandra…” Jason sounded kind of genuinely offended. “You I actually _like_. Though why _am_ I on this call? Just because the Outlaws stopped back in Gotham —”

“All of you, shut up and let her explain,” Dick scolded. Her heart clenched; she took a deep breath. 

“What do you need me for if you already have all these guys?” Steph asked. “Whatever’s going on, this seems like a ‘Bruce’s kids’ deal only —”

“All of you.”

Bruce’s voice ground down the line, and everyone fell quiet.

“I have a new case we need to discuss. I want you to meet me in the Batcave two nights from now. And I expect to see all of you there.”   

“ _All_ of us?” Stephanie echoed. 

“Yes, Batgirl. _All_ of you.”

“You want us to work a case with you? Together?” Dick’s voice started out quiet, but steadily rose with hopefulness. “Alright. Okay, B. We’ll be there.”

“And don’t come as Batman,” Bruce added to his eldest. “Come as Nightwing.”

Damian made a soft choking noise. 

“Well, I’d _love_ to come hang out with all you fuck-os,” Jason said after a moment, “But I have an urgent appointment to do absolutely nothing in two nights, so —”

“And before anyone says anything else,” Bruce growled, “this meeting is _not_ optional. Either you come, or I go to your homes, pick you up, and _carry_ you back to the Batcave.”

Jason immediately started arguing, his voice overlaying with Tim’s and Damian’s. 

Cass cut them off.

“Oracle,” she said quietly, “do you think...we should? You called us. You tell us. Is this a good idea?”

Barbara stared into her computer screen. She rested her forearms on the desk, letting her glasses slip down her nose, feeling her heart thunder in her chest. 

She took a deep breath.

“It’s not a question of whether it’s a good idea. It’s something that we, as a — as a collective —” She’d almost said _a_ _family_ , “really  _need_ to do.”

Cass hummed; Barbara could almost see her nodding slowly, the way she did. Steph let out a sharp breath.

“Well, you all heard the lady.”

The younger boys grumbled and muttered bitterly, but at least they stopped arguing. 

Barbara’s heart twisted. She remembered when things had been good with Jason, when they’d been good with Tim. She missed those times more than she’d ever dared to admit. It seemed like almost too much to hope that they could get everyone to collaborate, but she’d said it herself: whether it was possible or not, they _needed_ to do it. The way things were now couldn’t go on.

“I’ll see you all there on Friday night at ten p.m.,” Bruce concluded. Barbara wondered how many of the others could hear the barely-perceptible relief in his voice, and the hope _he_ didn’t dare admit either. 

He didn’t wait for assent before he ended the call; Barbara sighed deeply, resting her entire weight against the desk. 

That, at least, was done. But she had another phone call to make. 

Her stomach twisted at the very thought of it, churning almost painfully; she had to swallow around a golf ball-sized lump in her throat. Her hands shook. 

 _I need to do_ this _too,_ she thought. 

She reached up, and with shaking hands, placed another call. 

“Babs?” His voice echoed down into her ear. “What’s up? I thought the briefing was over.”

“Yeah, no, this — this isn’t about work.”

Dick listened. 

Her next breath shook. 

“Can you come over? I don’t know if I can do this over the phone, I — I — God no I can’t do this —”

“Babs.”

Her name in his voice, soft as it was, undid her. 

“I want to get back together.”

He was silent for several seconds. It seemed to last hours; she felt like she was going to throw up. 

“You do?” 

She couldn’t quite read the inflection in his voice; she was tempted to say no, to cut her losses and back out while she still could. 

“Yes. I do.” 

 _Because I still love you,_ was on her lips. _I think I never stopped loving you._

But she didn’t quite have the courage to voice that. 

He was quiet again for a few more seconds. 

“Do you still want me to come over? I’m in the neighborhood; I can be there in ten minutes.”

“Yes. Yes, I want that.”

“Okay, I’m on my way.” She heard his grapple line shoot out in the background, and the line went dead. 

It seemed like another eternity, but eight minutes later, she heard the knocking on her balcony door that had once been so familiar. She rolled back from her station so fast the floor squeaked, moving up to the door and sliding it open. When he stepped through, to her astonishment, he was, for the first time in a year, wearing his Nightwing suit instead of his Batman suit. He peeled off his mask and looked at her with those eyes, full of hope and astonishment, his face and shoulders finally not weighed down by exhaustion.  

She wondered if he knew how good it was to see him like that. 

“You’re Nightwing again.”

“Yeah.”

She blinked hard.

“And here I was calling you ‘Batman’ all night. It...it looks good on you.”

“Do you really want to get back together?”

Her shoulders tightened. She forced herself to look him in the eye. 

“Do _you?_ Because frankly, I...I would understand if you said no.”

Dick just looked at her.

“Do you think that I’m going to say no?” His voice was carefully neutral. 

She nodded, her head dropping.

“I haven’t always been the person you deserve, I know that. Besides, it’s been over a year since we broke up, and I know you’ve been seeing other people.” She fiddled with the hem of her shirt. “Lord knows I have too.”

“I heard about you and Dinah, yeah. But wait, what are you talking to _me_ for? I thought you loved her.”

“I...I do, yeah. Have, for a while. She’s been beside me for years, been good to me, been loyal to me when I definitely didn’t deserve it, been a real friend; she’s one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met.” She toyed with the hem of her shirt. “I love her. But...I can’t be with her. I can’t continue down that path; the one _we_ went down. I can’t ever see what we’d become. And no, this isn’t about me, or my issues, it’s about _her_. She told me. This is what _she_ needs. Time to herself, to figure herself out, to focus on helping herself, to really _be_ herself. You know?”

“I do. Yeah.”

“So yeah...I’m free. I’ve been free for months now, had lots of time to think about this; this isn’t me picking you as a consolation prize.” _Because not only am I free, but like how I’ve always loved_ her _, I’ve always loved_ you _too, Dick Grayson. And part of me wants so badly to tell you that._ “Besides, I...ever since my brother attacked me...ever since you saved me...you were holding me, crying, you thought you were going to lose me, and since then, I haven’t been able to deny that I still...still...I still feel. Something.”

She couldn’t tell him yet, couldn’t tell him she still loved him. She felt naked before him right then. So, so exposed, so vulnerable. If he wanted to, he could shout in her face, laugh at her, scorn her for _daring_ to ask him to be hers again after she’d undeniably broken his heart. 

But instead he knelt before her so that their gazes met again. He took off his gloves, and his hands cupped her face; her entire body started at his touch.

“I lo —” He abruptly stopped saying _those_ three words, understanding that it was too soon for her. “Babs. How could you think that I wouldn’t want to be with you?”

“But...we haven’t been together for so long…”

“We’ve _always_ been together, in one way or another, since we were fifteen and eighteen years old.”

His calloused, warm hands were still on her cheeks; all she seemed to see right then was his face, all she seemed to feel were those hands. Slowly, trying not to cry, she took his wrists in her own. 

“So...you want this?”

“ _Yes._ ” He blinked hard, and she realized he was about to cry too. “I want this _so_ much, and I — I never thought I’d have this chance again.”

“Okay.” She found herself smiling. The pit in her stomach closed, her breathing finally steadied. “Okay. I — I’m glad.”

He let go, her hands falling away from his wrists as he put his gloves back on, wiping at his eyes. His gloves came away speckled with warm tears. 

He leaned in, and, for a heartstopping second, she thought he was going to kiss her.

When he didn’t, she couldn’t figure out whether she was relieved or disappointed. 

“Hey, um...patrol wiped me out. Can I sleep on your couch tonight?”

“Yeah, that’s alright.”

Dick reached up one more time to rub his thumb along her cheek, almost as if he were wiping away tears, the tears she wouldn’t let herself shed. Barbara sighed softly.

“And I think I’m gonna go to bed too. It’s late.”

He nodded, then got back to his feet, walking over to her couch. She turned her chair away, rolling towards her bedroom. But she paused at the door, looking back over at him as he was setting down his weapons, laying down to rest in her home. 

“G’night, Boy Wonder.”

Dick shut his eyes. 

“ _Your_ Boy Wonder,” he murmured, almost too quietly for her to hear.

Barbara shut off the lights.

 

* * *

 

Dinah interrupted again.

“You really felt like that all this time?” Her brow furrowed, making the lines in her face look more pronounced. “Some of that stuff you told her...I don’t know if you ever even told —”

“— _anyone_ ,” Barbara agreed. “Not my dad, not Dick, not...well, not you.”

Dinah shook her head. 

“I can’t believe it. She hurt you that much...she did all that...and you kept all that, all that shit inside you for twenty-one years?”

“Are you really that surprised?”

Her friend started slightly, then narrowed her eyes. 

“It wouldn’t be that surprising if it were just _old_ you, no. But you kept this even through the last few years? Even after _everything?_ Babs, you were hurting _that_ much, and you never said anything? Never even _acknowledged_ it? Not even to the people you love, not even to _me?_ ”

Barbara’s eyes narrowed too.

 

* * *

 

_Eleven Years Ago_

 

The day after she got engaged, after Jason Bard had asked her to be his wife, Barbara woke up in a bed that wasn’t hers, the news blaring from the next room. 

She rolled over, pulling her left hand out from under the pillow, studying the ring. Jason had really put a lot of thought and money into it; offset by two tiny sapphires, apparently because they were her birthstone, the diamond was almost as big as a peanut, catching the sun and throwing off a million tiny rainbows. On top of that, he’d taken her to a fancy restaurant the previous night to ask her, one where they’d both had to dress up far more than usual. She couldn’t believe that he’d spent thousands of dollars on her like that; it was sweet, it was touching, but it also made her slightly uncomfortable. Not only was it almost shocking conventional, but was it really _worth_ it?

The money, not the engagement. 

Barbara rolled out of Jason’s bed, stretching her arms, flexing her legs and feet to shake off the stiffness of sleep. She showered quickly and redressed in her clothes from the previous night; her high heels in hand as she meandered out to see him. 

Jason got up from the couch at once upon seeing her. He was already showered and shaved, dressed casually, and he smiled at her like she was everything he’d ever wanted. 

He wrapped her up in an embrace. 

“Morning, beautiful.”

“Hi,” she murmured. 

“I made coffee; help yourself.”

She took him at his word, then walked back to the living room, carefully setting her heels down by the door. She wondered if she would move into his apartment; she hoped not, though she’d been spending more time than ever over here, it was _his_ place, not hers. The only trace of her seemed to be the lingering smells of her shampoo on his pillow and her body on his bedsheets. 

She kissed him, climbing onto the couch. He wrapped his arm around her, and she snuggled in close, forgetting her discomfort about the ring, just lost in love. 

“I’m so lucky,” she murmured. “I never thought I would get to have this.”

“You deserve it, Barbara.” Jason nuzzled her hair. “You deserve everything I could possibly give you.”

She sighed faintly.

 _“We’ll be right back, after these messages,”_ chirped the TV, and the news blinked out. At once, it was replaced by an advertisement for diapers, in which a very cute, chubby redheaded baby was shown beaming at the viewer, crawling about, and being held tenderly by its mother. 

Barbara was barely paying attention, just focused on her fiancé and the feeling of his warmth against her. But for some reason, Jason started looking very intently at the TV; some seconds in, he even smiled at the screen. 

She nudged his shoulder.

“What’s up with you?”

“Just thinking. That baby looks kinda like you did when you were little.”

“I never should’ve let Dad show you those pictures,” Barbara sighed, then squinted at the TV. “Okay, I guess so. But it’s not like you to fixate on ads like that.”

“Well, just thinking...now that we’re engaged and all…” Jason paused, then looked at her with tentative hope in his expression. 

Understanding struck Barbara in the chest like a blow. The ad switched to one for tampons.

“You — you want a baby?” she choked out. “ _Now?_ ”

“Well, not _now_ now. But I mean, soon. Preferably _after_ we’re married, so we don’t have the priest glaring at us through the ceremony and so your dad doesn’t kill me in my sleep.”

“You want a priest at our wedding —?” Sure, her family was Catholic and his was Episcopalian, but she hadn’t even _thought_ of a priest; she’d been picturing the ceremony not in a dusty church, but outside, somewhere where she and her husband could be surrounded by loved ones... “— wait no, nevermind. A _baby_? Jason, I’m only twenty-three. I don’t have time for a baby. I want to finish my thesis and get my PhD, and maybe another one too. I want to get a job at the university. Maybe even run for office.”

Jason looked confused and slightly hurt.

“It’s not like you still can’t do those things if you have kids. Just look at Obama.”

“Obama didn’t have his kids until _after_ he’d gotten his degrees and had been established in his firm, and he didn’t run for office for _years_ after they were born,” she countered. 

“Well, alright. We can wait until after you get your PhD and a new job. And everything else...you can still do that Babs, just later.”

Barbara stared at her hands. This is what women were supposed to do, right? A good modern woman ran a career like she didn’t have kids to worry about, and she doted on her kids like she didn’t have a job to work at. But if it came down to it, if something had to go, it should _never_ be the kids. God forbid a woman choose to focus on her job. God forbid a woman _not_ cater to others at her own expense. 

“Why do _I_ have to wait to do what I want?” she retorted. She sounded petulant even to herself, but she didn’t stop. “Say I had kids. Say I waited, put my career aside. Are you going to do the same thing, Jason? Say I’m Obama. Are you going to be Michelle? Are you going to quit your job and help raise them, are you going to find babysitters when we need them, are you going to commute back and forth while I’m on campaign so you make sure they’re taken care of?”

Jason shifted uncomfortably in his seat. She felt bad for putting him on the spot like that, especially when she knew how much he loved his job, but hadn’t he done the same to her?

Maybe he’d been more justified. Maybe it was normal to think about having babies right after you got engaged. But she couldn’t see that. Because even after all this time, when she tried to imagine being pregnant, giving birth, cradling a little blond or redheaded baby with her eyes or his nose, she felt no excitement or love. She felt apathy, she felt disgust, and she felt a rush of terror.  

_Aren’t I supposed to be past this? I’m a grown woman now. Aren’t I supposed to be past being afraid of turning out like my family?_

But she didn’t tell him that. 

“Alright,” he sighed. “I...I guess we can wait.”

“Right. Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Look, when I’m in my late twenties, early thirties...we’ll have more time then. We can talk about this in a few years again, I swear.”

Jason was quiet through the rest of the commercial break, which left her with a weight off her shoulders, but also a sinking feeling in her gut, and the happy, contented warmth from earlier gone. She wondered whether she’d given herself enough time, whether she would want a baby in her late twenties and early thirties, whether she would ever want a baby with him at all. And if she did, whether her want would be stronger than her fear. 

 _“In other news,”_ the caster announced, _“Police Commissioner James Gordon has announced that he will be conducting a thorough investigation into the GCPD’s Vice unit, in light of corruption, murder, and sexual assault allegations made against Lieutenant Frank Morrison, the unit’s commanding officer. The case against Morrison was about to be dropped until two nights ago, when he was arrested at his home in Gotham Heights. A source inside the GCPD claims that that night, two hours before Morrison was arrested, they saw Batgirl dropping off evidence at the Bat-Signal, and that this is the only reason the police had enough evidence for the arrest. Lieutenant Morrison has so far declined to comment.”_

Barbara blinked hard, looking past the newscaster to Morrison’s glowering mugshot, right next to an amateur photograph of herself in her uniform, swooping low over the streets. It was from too far away for Jason to recognize her, thankfully, but anyone could recognize the pleasure she took in her job. Her face was lit up with joy, mouth open in laughter, her cape and her long hair streaming behind her as she flew. 

“That Batgirl’s something else,” Jason said at last. “She’s been doing this for what, four years?”

“Five,” Barbara corrected automatically. “And seven months.”

“That’s right, that was the year we first met. That’s pretty impressive of her.”

“The first Robin did it for nine,” she murmured. “And Batman’s been doing it for fourteen.”

“Still though. She’s gotta be a pretty tough girl — sorry, woman. I wonder who she is, who’s been able to do this kinda job surrounded by, well, men, for all this time.”

Discomfort and guilt gripped Barbara’s stomach like claws. 

There was a _lot_ she didn’t tell him. A _lot_ they didn’t share.

“Yeah. I wonder too.”

She settled back in next to her fiancé, trying, at least, not to look like how she felt. 

 

* * *

 

_Six Years Ago_

 

The Birds of Prey had been reunited and recentered in Gotham for a few months now. But it wasn’t nearly enough time to gain stability. In the stretch that team had been broken up, her city had changed, shifted, like sand under her wheels. The bottomfeeders, the petty thieves, the cheap muscle, those kinds of criminals hadn’t changed; they were still as desperate or as cruel or as greedy as she remembered from her youth. But the upper crust, their homes and cars shined with the grease of never-ending dirty cash, were younger, cleverer, having learned from the mistakes of their predecessors; it was harder to pin them down than ever. The faces of their enemies, of Batman, Batgirl, and Robin, who’d once seemed so constant to her, now seemed changeable, mutable. 

Even the skyline was changing. 

Barbara sat in her bed, watching the dawn turn the clouds red, watching new buildings go up along the harbor, glass and steel glimmering crimson under the bloody sky. Usually she got up with the sun, but today, she stayed under the sheets, looking at how the cold air outside had painted her windows with frost. 

“You’re thinking about it too.”

She looked to her side. 

Lying next to her was her best friend. Dinah looked beautiful in the morning light, her golden hair all undone, the curves of her body round and soft under the bedsheets. Her face was uncharacteristically bare of makeup, and without it, she looked older, more tired. Her arms, shoulders, waist, and legs were tight and full with muscle, and the pale scars on her skin seemed to never end. Her blue eyes were as piercing as a raptor’s.

“Yeah,” Barbara admitted. “I am.”

She sighed, then lay back down, moving a little closer to Dinah. She felt an arm wrap around her shoulders; Dinah moved closer, nuzzling into her neck, kissing her shoulder.

“I really do love you,” Dinah whispered. “I never would’ve been able to bear the last few months without you. Without the girls too, but _you_ especially.”

“Yeah, the last few months have been shitty for us all.” Barbara smiled wanly, taking a deep breath. “I...I love you too. You know that.”

“Babs, of course I know that. Fuck, you weren’t always great at saying it, but I know it. I’ve known it for years.” She shifted, her bare skin moving against Barbara’s. “And I know you needed the comfort as much as I did.”

Barbara sighed.

“So many of our people dying or almost dying…”

“Our kids,” Dinah agreed quietly. “Our friends.”

Barbara thought of how they’d nearly lost Lian, how his daughter nearly dying before spending time in a coma sent Roy into a rage spiral that sent him all the way to Bialya, into the arms of the team called the Outlaws...headed by Jason of all people. She thought of him too, spearheading that team. She thought of how Dinah had left the love of her life, barely a year after she’d finally married him. She thought of Cassandra and her chest hurt; her girl was far away in another country. She thought of Tim, gone on a mission of his own. She thought of Batgirl, Robin, and Batman; Steph, Damian, and Dick, with the weight of Gotham on their shoulders. She thought of Bruce...oh God, Bruce. She thought of dozens more of their friends and coworkers who’d died and suffered, who’d lost people of their own. 

Then she thought of the Birds of Prey.

“This has been good for all of us,” she realized. “Us being together, I mean.”

“No shit, genius.” Dinah’s voice was warm. “We’re a team. We’re _meant_ to be a team.”

Barbara wrapped her own arm around Dinah’s waist, pulling her close. 

“You…” She cleared her throat. “You and I could be a team. We could be a real thing, Dinah. We could be the only thing either of us ever had that…”

_That actually worked._

It went unsaid, but both women understood.

She dared to let herself imagine it. Dinah living in this house with her, sleeping in her bed, the two of them curling around each other and keeping each other warm through cold nights. Going out and getting takeout when Barbara was too busy to make dinner, because Dinah couldn’t cook for shit, honestly. But she could make good coffee, and Barbara would drink it every day, thank her for it, all the way through the day. Dinah would force her to take naps between calls, and Barbara in turn, would bandage Dinah’s wounds, brushing away that long blond hair to stitch up her cuts. She would watch TV on the couch while Barbara would read next to her, Barbara would do dishes, and Dinah would vacuum the floor and fill the air with cheerful gossip. They would wake up next to each other slowly on Sunday mornings. Their lovemaking from the last few months would continue, God, _if only_ that could continue, because it made her shiver just thinking about it, thinking about Dinah’s hands and lips on her body, thinking about how she tasted, how she cried out underneath her. Much as the image scared her...she even dared to imagine what Dinah might look like in a different wedding dress someday. 

But even as she imagined it, she knew. Her eyes and chest began to hurt.

“I can’t, Babs.” Dinah shifted against her. “My entire life since puberty ended, I’ve been fucking someone, or looking to fuck someone. I got married too quickly, got divorced, fell in love, kept slipping to and away from him, dated this spectacular bell curve of terrible or unsatisfying men and the odd amazing woman, finally married the love of my life, got divorced again...and as soon as I did, I turned to you.” She pulled away slightly so that she could look Barbara in the eye. “My best friend.”

“I thought you needed the comfort,” Barbara whispered.

“I did. And I’m glad I got it from you. I love you so fucking much, it’s almost unbearable.” Dinah took a deep breath. “But I need to live a life where I’m not constantly looking to be loved or to give someone all my love —”

“You need to learn to give _yourself_ that love.”

“Exactly.”

Even as she heard it, Barbara still selfishly wanted to hold onto Dinah, to keep loving her, to make her fantasy real. To not let another lover slip through her fingers, to not lose anyone else to her fear and never-ending impulse to shut people out. 

But this wasn’t about her. This wasn’t her fault. This was Dinah’s choice, what Dinah needed. 

And she loved Dinah so fucking much, it was almost unbearable.

“I understand,” she said. “You should do that, Di. Do what you need to do for yourself.”

Dinah nodded. Then her brow furrowed. 

“Are _you_ going to be okay? I mean, you’ve kinda got the opposite problem as me. You _should_ have someone you can open up to, to work with, to be your partner —”

“Di, I’ll still have you, even if we’re not dating or sleeping together,” Barbara interrupted. “I’ll be okay. You don’t have to go around looking for a boyfriend or girlfriend for me. In fact, please don’t; I don’t like it when you matchmake.”

“Bitch please, like I’d stop matchmaking just because you tell me not to.” Dinah finally smiled. “For the record, um, if our circumstances were different…”

“You _would_ want to stay with me?” Barbara smiled too.

“Let’s just say that if there’s one thing I learned from Craig and Ollie, it’s that I look damn good in white.” Dinah kissed her. It was long and slow, like neither of them wanted to pull away; for a long few minutes, they kept at it, kept kissing, hands caressing over bare arms and shoulders and backs. Warmth built in Barbara’s belly, spooling between her paralyzed legs, flushing with lust and love.

“What’s this?” she murmured. “You giving me a parting gift?”

“I guess so.” Dinah nipped her lower lip. “So...what about it? You want to do this one —” Kiss. “— more —” Kiss. “— time?” Kiss. 

Barbara kept smiling even through the ache in her heart and the tears behind her eyes. 

“One more time,” she promised. “And then you’re free.”

She vanished below the sheets, lifted Dinah’s perfect legs over her shoulders, and touched her lips to her again. Above her, her best friend began moaning, writhing, under her touch and her kiss.

The sky began melting from red into blue. 

 

* * *

 

“Why didn’t I tell anyone how I was feeling?” Barbara heard her voice drop low. “ _Why_ didn’t I tell anyone how I was _feeling?_ ” All at once, it rose to a shriek. “Because how do I even begin to fucking _touch_ that, Dinah!?”

Dinah flinched. 

“How do I unravel something that happened two decades ago, and its effect on the rest of my life? How can I possibly begin to understand how something that happened to a child influenced what an adult thinks and does?” She buried her face in her hands. “I think what I told her...I think it barely scratched the surface. God, look at Bruce, look at all the guys, look at Kate, look at Selina, look at Cass and Steph. This shit, _any_ kind of this parent shit, whether they die or hit you or leave you, it fucks your head all sideways. I don’t know how to un-fuck it. I still feel like a bad wife, a bad friend, a — a bad daughter. Ever since I knew I was gonna have John, I’ve been scared that I would be a bad mother.” She dropped her hands, cupping over the curve of where her daughter lay. “Now I’m especially scared.”

Dinah recovered from her shock, her eyes softening. The wrinkles around them seemed to deepen.

“All this shit — where do I begin, Dinah? Where do I begin to understand myself, what I need to do?” Her eyes were hot; she blinked hard, but the tears were still there. “I’m supposed to be the smart one. I’m supposed to know what to do. But...I don’t. I don’t even know where to _start_ fixing it, where to go from here.”

The first tear trickled down her cheek.

“I’m so lost, Dinah.”

 

* * *

 

_Ten Years Ago_

 

The entire world seemed to have stopped. 

Jason, God, Jason, Robin was gone. The Teen Titans had been split down the middle. The Justice League had lost several of its heroes; split off, dead. Batman was cracking under his grief. Her father had come completely apart. Her friends had drifted away. Her old life was dead, blown away like the shattered vertebrae in her back.

So Barbara let herself stop too.

As she lay in bed, she thought of the letter she’d sent to the man she loved, just after she’d gotten out of the hospital.

 _Dear Jason,_ it had read. That name made her chest ache now, ache for both the people she’d lost. _I’m sorry for being out of touch for the last couple months. It’s not that I didn’t want to see you. It’s that I’m not in the best shape at the moment...and that I need to tell you something, and I don’t know if I can do it in person. You’re not going to like it, but you need to_ _hear it._ _The wedding’s off. I’m sorry to have to tell you like this, but I’m not ready to get married. In fact, I’m not ready for_ any _serious relationship...or maybe any relationship at all. I’m so sorry it had to end like this. You’re a wonderful, wonderful man, and I really do love you, but I can’t be with you. Please don’t try to change my mind. Please don’t come looking for me. You don’t have to forgive me for this. Just please...try to forget me. -Barbara._

She hadn’t been able to bring herself to sign it _Love, Barbara._

With shaking hands, she had slipped the ring into the envelope along with the letter, and asked her father to take it into the post office. He’d begged her not to, to talk to her fiancé instead, to give their relationship another chance, but she’d been adamant. So she’d had to see the sorrowful but unsurprised look on his face, the exact same look he’d worn when her mother had tagged the divorce papers to his chest.

 _I’m not like Mom,_ she’d thought at the time. _This is different. I truly can’t cope. I can’t. I’m not the woman he loves anymore. I’m barely a woman. I’m barely even alive._

Barbara rolled back over in bed, staring at the window. She hadn’t showered or changed her pajamas in four days and the clock on her nightstand read _3:32_ _P.M._ , but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She barely felt the pangs of hunger gripping her stomach; she hadn’t eaten anything substantial in days either. 

The only signs of life in the whole room were electronic.

Her phone buzzed. Without lifting her head from the pillow, she picked it up, looking at the little screen. There were really only four people it could be; nearly all her friends had either awkwardly drifted away, unwilling to put in the new effort it took to be around her, or she’d actively pushed them away, knowing that sooner or later it’d turn out the same. Of those four, her father was at work, and probably had his phone off. Dick had had to seek out a new place to live, a new job, and besides, it was almost too hard seeing his concern, his care for her; it hurt almost as much as disgust or pity. Bruce was even less talkative than usual these days, and she wasn’t feeling too ready to talk to him anyway. 

So turned out to be the last person. 

_The offer to come to Sunday dinner still stands, Miss Barbara. You are free to decline it of course, as you did the last fifteen, but you are also always welcome in this house. No matter what Master Bruce does or says. -A_

Her tiny smile, the first one in who knew how long, cracked her sunken expression like a frozen lake in spring. Good old Alfie. It was nice of him to try, to keep trying with them all...but she didn’t think she could go. She was just tired. So, so tired. She didn’t even know if she had the strength to carry out her plan, her plan to use the strengths she still had, the ones that didn’t rely on her body.

 _What strengths?_ she thought bitterly. _I’m just kidding myself. This won’t work. I’m not going to be able to figure this out. I’m nothing. I’m a shell of a human being._

But for the first time in months, a different voice arose, and it arose stronger than the poison that’d been eating her away.

 _I’m sick of being a victim,_ it snarled back. _I can’t live like this anymore. Being tired all the time, being a burden to Dad because I can’t do anything for myself, wishing I were dead, day in and day out, when I used to love being alive. Besides, the Joker's still out there. Countless people like him are still out there. I don't want a single other person to suffer on their account. It’s time to stop being afraid. I’m going to figure something out if it kills me._

As she looked at the other side of her room, her eyes alighted upon the only other sign of life. Set up on top of the desk she’d done her homework on as a little girl was what she’d gotten with her Wayne Enterprises grant: a computer system. The most powerful computer system she could get, humming softly, the screensaver flickering, just waiting for her touch, her guidance.

She’d majored in information and data retrieval. She’d been reading books about coding and computers since she was nine. She had an eidetic memory, detective training, and everywhere she’d studied, her entire life, she’d been the quickest learner in her entire peer group — including when she’d studied under the Batman himself. It wasn’t a formal education on the subject, but it would have to work. She would have to _make_ it work. 

Barbara struggled, hoisting herself out of bed and into the wheelchair beside it. It seemed to take years; moving out of her bed was like swimming through molasses. She shuddered upon moving into the chair, hating the stiff leather, the cold metal, hating the reminder of what she could no longer do. It was almost enough to make her crawl back into bed and lay there wishing she wasn’t too tired to cry.

But she didn’t. 

Instead, she put her hands to the pushrims and moved forward. 

It took a long time to roll to her desk, when before she would’ve simply sprung over. Her head felt like a foggy day, like it was full of wet wool. But though her brain wasn’t at optimum, it was still there. 

The screen flickered to life, and the computer hummed louder when she touched her fingers to the keys. It felt like a welcome.

For the first time in months, she felt a whisper of what it was like to be a hero again. 

“Now,” she whispered to herself, “Let’s see what I can still do.”

 

* * *

 

_Six Years Ago_

 

Their latest mission had been a rousing success. 

The three other women were spread out across her living room, still in their uniforms, filling her home with chatter and laughter. Half-drunk bottles of beer and half-eaten boxes of Chinese food were scattered across her floor, and Zinda, who’d finally figured out how to work Spotify, was blasting the Andrews Sisters on her phone. Barbara had gone back to the kitchen to get more beer, but she could still hear the music, and could still hear Helena gossiping.

“And then Kendra says to me, ‘Hel, you have to promise you’ll keep this quiet, seriously, you can’t tell anyone, but you know...I don’t think I want to be with him after all. I mean, for one thing, Roy was better in bed than Carter ever was, and Carter’s supposed to be my _soulmate_.’”

“Can’t y’all ever talk about _anything_ that ain’t sex?” Zinda complained. “But uh, then what’d you say?”

“I said to Kendra, I said, ‘Kendra, you’re Hawkgirl, you’re better than this. You don’t have to feel obligated to stay with Carter, soulmates are a lie sold by Hollywood and certain fanfiction writers, and what’s more I _know_ Roy’s good in bed, you don’t have to tell me that. But you’re out of luck there too, the kid’s currently traveling the world with an alien and a wanted criminal and God knows who else; why don’t you try your hand with Vixen, or —’”

Barbara heard the soft _thump_ of footsteps behind her. 

“Hey, Di,” she said without turning around. “So, is that how that works? People start talking about your ex-stepson’s sex life and you leave the room?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Dinah replied, bending down to wrap her arms around Barbara’s shoulders from behind. Barbara leaned back slightly, lifting one of Dinah’s hands to her lips. Her lover’s skin smelled like roses and honey. 

“I’d need some kind of kid first to be able to answer that question,” Barbara chuckled. She rested Dinah’s hand back on her shoulder. “How’ve you been doing?”

“Better.” Dinah rested her cheek on Barbara’s head. “Really, genuinely better. I’m so glad you re-formed the Birds, I really missed this.”

“So did I. I don’t know if you guys need me anymore, but —”

“‘Don’t need you’? Woman, don’t be crazy.” Dinah squeezed her shoulders. “This community and these gals are _always_ gonna need you. You’re kinda part of us now.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility,” Barbara joked nervously. “How do I know I won’t let you down?”

“I reiterate my earlier statement: woman, don’t be crazy.” Dinah walked around until they were facing each other. She bent again, bringing them eye to eye. 

The cold beer bottles in her hands seemed to offset the heat that flushed through her skin; she swallowed hard, meeting those bright blue eyes. Her chest seemed to swell. 

All that heartbreak months ago; everything that still seemed so uncertain. But they’d had each other. At least, at goddamn least, the two of them had had each other. 

Dinah took her face in hand and pulled her into a kiss; Barbara closed her eyes, leaning into it, overwhelmed by those rough hands and that soft mouth and the sweet taste of her lipstick. For a moment, that kiss was all she knew.   

When they pulled away, she glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, Helena and Zinda had taken a break from their conversation, peering into the kitchen and grinning like hyenas. 

“You people are insufferable,” Barbara grumbled. 

“I was just wonderin’ where y’all were with my beer,” Zinda said innocently. Helena snickered, not even bothering at pretense.

“C’mon Babs, don’t be bitchy,” she said lightly. “We’re nosy ‘cause we _care_. It’s good to see the two of you happy after all the shit that’s been going down recently, y’know.”

Barbara shook her head, resisting a smile. 

“Fine, but I had better not hear from anyone that they heard from _you_ about me boning my friend-slash-coworker.”

Helena just shrugged. 

“It’s not like it’ll shock anyone. You’ve been together for months. And more importantly, it’s not like you haven’t _always_ been boning your friends and coworkers.”

She and Zinda ducked out cackling when Barbara threw a fork at them. 

“Ah, Helena,” Dinah chuckled. “You learn to love her.”

“You do,” Barbara admitted, “much as she still pisses me off.” She smirked faintly. “It’s a different kind of pissed off than it used to be.”

Dinah gave her another kiss.

“Thanks again for everything, Babs,” she said softly. “You’re better for me than you give yourself credit for.”

Barbara wasn’t quite sure if she could believe that.

“Sure.” She swallowed hard, even as she felt her heart thumping against her ribs. “I…”

“Yeah.” Dinah pressed one more kiss to her mouth. Barbara felt the lipstick, red as a valentine, leave a mark upon her skin. “I know. I love you too.”

She walked back out to the living room. Barbara was still for a moment, just for a moment, before she followed. 

Her girls happily accepted the offering of more beer, and the four of them settled back in. Barbara picked up her carton of sesame chicken, lying down and snuggling back into the couch while in the background, the old music continued. 

“God, there ain’t nothin’ more I love than spendin’ time with y’all after we’ve kicked some ass,” Zinda said, sighing contentedly and swigging her beer like a professional. She lay back against the armchair, staring out the window at the Gotham City skyline. “Hel, finish that story, I wanna know what Kendra ended up doin’.”

Helena was sitting on the floor; her back was to the couch, her hair soft against Barbara’s side. She idly rested her hand on her friend’s shoulder, and Helena looked over, giving her one last relaxed grin. Her dark eyes were warm, crinkled with happiness.

“Alright, Zee, where was I?”

On the other armchair, Dinah helped herself to lo mein, listening attentively to the story. Barbara looked at her, feeling her heart expand against her ribs again. 

 _This isn’t going to last,_ she told herself. _It never does, no matter how much I love them._

But her treacherous heart, beating against her bones like thunder, wouldn’t stop beating for any of the people in the room, in the city. Especially not for her best friend.

 

* * *

 

“Babs,” was all Dinah could say at first. “Oh God, Babs.”

Barbara kept crying. She’d used to forbid herself from crying in front of other people; so afraid of showing vulnerability or weakness. Even now she still hated it, still felt so exposed. She wished that she wouldn’t.

But she kept crying anyway. 

“This is so stupid,” she choked out. She dragged the heel of her hand across her cheeks, smearing the stream of tears. “I wish I didn’t feel like this. I wish to God I didn’t feel like this.”

“Why?” Dinah said softly. “Why do you wish you didn’t feel like this?”

“Because I don’t know if what happened to me is worth it. When the whole thing with the Joker happened, it felt like my life was over, but I pushed past it, didn’t I? I got better. I want to push past this too, but I...I can’t.”

Dinah was quiet for a moment.

“Babs, you never got closure with your mom,” she realized. “You got closure for what happened with the Joker, a whole bunch of times over, actually. I think... _both_ those things that happened to you made you feel worthless, insignificant, and like it wasn’t worth it to open the door to people — um, figuratively I mean — and even if you did, that you had to keep them at an arm’s length in order to keep yourself from getting hurt worse. Once you got better after the Joker, you got stronger, tougher, and you _did_ open yourself up quite a bit. You came back from that. But this…” 

She shook her head, blonde hair swishing around her face. 

“...you never had the chance to come back from this. Fuck, with all that panic about being close, the equal panic about losing people, the fear of being a bad mom, I bet this is half the reason you were having such a hard time the first year after the family got back together, when you were pregnant with the first one.”

“Among...many, many other instances.” Barbara thought back over the last twenty years, almost overwhelmed by the influx of memories. So much of her life had really been tainted by this, hadn’t it.

She sniffled, trying to wipe her eyes again. The tears dripped down over her blouse.

“God, after all these years, we’re all such messes.”

“Yeah.” Dinah inclined her head. “Yeah, we are.”

For a minute, the only sound in the Clock Tower was Barbara’s shuddering sobs.

“So what are we going to do about it?”

 

* * *

 

_Nine-and-a-Half Years Ago_

 

The day Barbara finally finished moving all her things into the restored clock tower down in Old Gotham, her father came back from his honeymoon. 

When the doorbell rang, she checked and triple-checked her camera before she let them in. 

“Now _this_ is a surprise,” she smiled as they walked through the door into her living space. Jim was still in khaki shorts and a white t-shirt, holding a bottle of wine, and Sarah was in a flower-print sundress, holding a cake box from the bakery near the bus station. Both of them looked tanner, younger, happier. “Back already? What are you doing; are we celebrating _your_ marriage or _my_ finally moving out?”

Her father was all but shining with joy. Even with his graying hair and wrinkles, his steps seemed lighter, his shoulders and body language were more relaxed than she’d ever known. When she was a girl, his wedding ring had seemed to be weighing him down, but now that she was grown, it seemed to elevate him instead.

“We’re celebrating both,” Sarah decided. “That you’re doing so much better, and that your father and I officially decided that we’re the only people in the world that can stand each other.” She bent and kissed Barbara on the forehead, momentarily making her heart stop. “You look fantastic, Babs. Whatever you’ve been doing lately, it’s good on you.”

“Something to do with those computers,” Jim said, nodding to the far side of the living room. She’d bought a good sturdy desk and set up her system there, making it her official workstation for everything she planned for the future. “I don’t know jack shit about computers, I admit it, but ever since Babs got them she’s really been getting better.”

She looked up at him guilelessly. 

“Been making friends on the Internet, Dad. What else?”

He and his new wife walked into her new kitchen, Sarah setting down the cake and admiring her set-up, Jim glancing back at her. 

“I know you’re joking, but I really do hope you’re making friends. It’s been kind of a lonely year…”

“Yeah, you don’t have to remind me.” 

While they were exploring her living space, she wheeled to the computer, looking for a reply to her message. After that disastrous attempt at partnership with Power Girl, she’d gone through her options again, looking for the perfect superheroine to work with. 

So many heroic women, and yet so few of them fit the profile...really, just the one she’d messaged.

So far, no reply.

Barbara wheeled back out to her father and new stepmother...God, _stepmother_. Seeing her father with his arm around a woman, smiling at her, looking happy, was surreal. Her brain helpfully brought up, for contrast, what he’d looked like alongside her mother, and her throat filled with bile. 

What’s more, she’d thought that this time this year _she’d_ be the one returning from _her_ honeymoon. Not Jim. _She’d_ have been happy for once, she’d be content with someone who had and knew none of her baggage, instead of having her father marry the stark reminder of what the two of them _hadn’t_ had with her mother. 

Instead, there she was, with almost no friends, with no coworkers, no husband, rebuilding all of that from scratch. 

 _Dad’s happy,_ she told herself. _And_ that’s _what matters. Not my fucking issues._  

She rolled into the kitchen too, pulling out the corkscrew and reaching for the wine bottle.

“So how was Rio?”

The wine opened with a dull _poomf_ , just as Jim reached for a knife to cut the cake. 

“Very warm. And very enlightening.” Sarah’s eyes sparked. “Your father was apparently under the impression that they speak Spanish in Brazil.”

Barbara burst out laughing.

“Alright, enough already,” Jim grumbled, cutting a generous slice. “Give me a break. I just thought, they speak Spanish through the entire damn rest of Latin America, what could be different about Brazil?”

“ _Portugal_ colonized them, Dad, not Spain,” Barbara smirked, pouring the drinks. Her stepmother graciously accepted a cup, warmly patting Barbara’s cheek as she did. She tried not to let her mixed feelings to Sarah’s familiarity show. “They speak _Portuguese_.”

“Well I know that _now_ , Barbara, don’t I?”

Both women laughed again. 

“Jim, cut yourself a smaller slice,” Sarah scolded lightly. “You know you have high blood pressure.”

Jim’s head snapped up, giving his wife a betrayed look. 

“Sarah, that’s _my_ line,” Barbara grinned. “He thinks _you’re_ supposed to take _his_ side against the nagging daughter.”

“Damn it,” Jim sighed as the two women laughed again. Barbara was struck by how easy it still was for both her and her father to talk to Sarah, even after some years of her being with them. Part of her was still afraid for her father, getting married again after his disastrous first time, but seeing them together...and even when they disagreed, when they fought, she saw that though there may have been frustration or disappointment or anger, there was never any real vitriol. Never resentment, never hatred. 

_How did a Gordon manage to get so lucky?_

Just as soon as she thought it, she heard her computer beeping. 

“Babs, I think someone’s sending you a message through the internets.”

“Okay Dad, I’ll just grab that real quick. Back in a sec.”

She wheeled out of the kitchen, grimacing slightly at the effort, even after a year. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw them sitting together, eating their cake and sipping coffee, each pair of dark eyes locked onto each other, soft with love. They didn’t say it. They didn’t really need to.

Something in Barbara’s chest ached as she wheeled up to her computer system, checking up on things. Flo Crawley had accepted her as a contact. The new Justice League International had quietly allowed her free access to their system. And Bruce...oh, Bruce. He had agreed to work with her, not as her mentor, but both in Gotham and with the League, on his level, as an _equal_. 

Barbara brushed at her eyes.

Then she checked the last message. The one that would change her life even further, forever.

_This is Black Canary. I’m in._

Barbara smiled. 

She had no idea. No idea what she was in for. 

 

* * *

 

_Six Years Ago_

 

She missed Bruce. She missed Jason. She missed Cass. She missed Tim. 

Missed them like an all-consuming ache in her gut. 

But she didn’t feel lonely anymore. 

“Fuck, this dumb show is great,” Dinah was laughing from the couch. It was the middle of the day, and some cheesy soap opera or another was flickering across the screen. In her faded jeans and band t-shirt, her blonde hair tied up in a messy ponytail, she was beautiful, cast in early afternoon sunlight. How Barbara loved her.

She couldn’t forget the others. Couldn’t push aside all her exes, including the one she knew she was still in love with, despite everything, despite how many times she’d tried, how many times she’d shut them out. But God, how she loved Dinah too.

“You’re rotting your brain with that shit,” Barbara grumbled from over by the computer station. “It’s completely idiotic.”

“Hey, look, I don’t call the stuff _you_ like idiotic.”

“That’s because I don’t like anything idiotic.”

“Except soy milk.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“What isn’t?” Dinah threw her hands up. “What the fuck is up with soy milk? It doesn’t have any milk in it. Why even call it milk? It’s just — just — white soy _liquid_.”

Barbara tried _so_ hard not to laugh and ended up making an embarrassing choking noise instead. 

Fuck, her first two loves had been a villain and a civilian, respectively, and _they_ had barely had senses of humor at all. Was that why, over the last few years, she had sought out heroes, heroes who made her laugh with such ease, made her feel better and safer despite everything? Maybe it was just because she, overly realistic and emotionally-awkward and prone to putting up walls as she was, needed that light in her life, needed that hope, needed heroes, and needed people who could make her laugh when she felt like she was about to cry. 

“Alright, soy liquid it is from now on.” Barbara closed her tab, powering off the computer. With ease, she rolled to the couch, clambering on next to her best friend. Dinah latched onto her at once, snuggling in close, that lovely blonde head nuzzled up against her chest. 

“How’s the family?” Her voice was muffled against Barbara’s shirt.

She sighed.

“You mean what’s left of it?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you already know what’s up with Jason.”

Dinah sighed too.

“Poor Roy. First what happened to Lian, then losing his arm, being imprisoned, and now being on the run with a wanted murderer...uh, no offense.”

“None taken.” Barbara carded her fingers through Dinah’s hair. “Are Connor and Mia okay?”

“They’re understandably upset about Roy, Lian, and my and Ollie’s divorce, but otherwise yeah, they’re okay.”

“I wish I could say the same for my — uh, I mean, _these_ kids.” The hand in Dinah’s hair trembled. “Cassie...I miss Cassie. Tim’s off doing God knows what, Stephanie’s out putting her entire self on the line and it’s all I can do to keep her from dying for _real_ , and Damian…” She paused. “Damian pisses me off.”

Dinah chuckled softly.

“Go easy on the kid. Cass didn’t have a great life either, and she wasn’t easy to deal with either, right? But wasn’t it worth it in the end?”

“You’re too forgiving.” But Barbara nuzzled into her anyway. Dinah was so _good,_ it was almost impossible to believe. Impulsive, temperamental, overly ruled by her emotions (and her hormones), incredibly exasperating, and so fucking _good_. 

The show came to an end, and Barbara sighed in relief. 

“Thank God that’s over.” She stretched her hands over her head while her girlfriend pouted at her. “Alright. I don’t have to be on call for a couple more hours, so...you wanna get some lunch?”

“What? Right after you insulted my show? Absolutely, yes, I do.”

They decided to go to a small French-style bistro a few blocks away; she’d been going there a pretty long time, Dick had used to go with her sometimes. It was a good date site, she thought, small and cozy, with strong coffee, good wine, and excellent fresh-baked bread. 

As soon as they sat down, Lindsay, the waitress who’d been serving her almost as long as she’d been going, with her Swedish-blonde ponytail and rainbow pin on her lapel, immediately gravitated over to them. Her eyes found Dinah’s hand clasped under Barbara’s and her eyes grew wide with excitement.

She tried to feign calm as she took their orders (two espressos, onion soup topped with Gruyere, and a _croque madame_ ), but as soon as she came back with the coffees, her excitement boiled over.

“I’m sorry, but Barbara, I have to ask: are you two together?”

“Why are you apologizing? You’ve heard _way_ more personal things about me over the years,” Barbara reminded her gently. She squeezed Dinah’s hand. “And yes, we _are_ together.”

Lindsay beamed. When she came back a few minutes later with their food, she burst out again:

“It’s so cool that you’re finally out and open. I know it’s the twenty-first century and all, but it’s still great every time, seeing other lesbians out and living their lives.”

A sick sense of foreboding crawled up Barbara’s throat.

Dinah frowned.

“We’re not lesbians. We’re both bisexual. I mean, I’m sure you’ve seen Babs with guys before.”

Lindsay looked puzzled. She’d been serving Barbara for almost three years, ever since the girl had started her sophomore year of college; she had most certainly seen her with men.

“There’s no such thing as being bisexual.”

The sense of foreboding swelled into something else, filling her whole throat. She stared at her food, her appetite having suddenly vanished.

“That’s just something people say when they’re confused about whether they’re gay or straight,” Lindsay continued, “I read it online.”

Several people shot their table pointed, nasty looks. Behind the counter, the cook shot them one too, like they were deliberately ruining lunch hour.

“No,” Dinah protested. Barbara suddenly realized that between the two of them, Dinah had dated fewer women. She wasn’t used to this. “I love guys, yeah, but I love Babs too.” She paused. “And Zatanna. And Wonder Woman.”

Despite the knots in her stomach, Barbara managed a small smile. 

The waitress just grimaced.

“No way. If you two actually cared about those men you were with, you don’t _really_ love each other.”

She then spun on her heel and stalked off, her ponytail swinging behind her. 

Dinah picked up her sandwich and studied it, her red lacquered nails bright against her pale skin and the crispy, warm brown of the bread. 

“Fuck me,” she said softly. Her blue eyes were downcast.

“Di…” 

“Babs, I just, I…” She sighed. “Do people always do that? When they find out, I mean?”

“Fairly often, yeah.”

Dinah still looked despondent. Barbara reached out and took her wrist, hand gliding along until their fingers were interlocked again; the sandwich fell back down to the blue ceramic plate. The two women’s scarred, calloused hands, Dinah’s smelling sweet with lotion, clutching each other like lifelines. 

“I really do love you,” Dinah said quietly. “I’m not just getting over Ollie. I love him, yeah, but I love _you_ too.”

“I know, Di. You’ve loved me for a pretty long time.”

“But this is different.”

“Is it?”

Dinah was quiet for a moment.

“Not really, I guess. Not really at all.”

Barbara lifted her girlfriend’s hand to her lips.

“Babs, I don’t want you to get the idea that I don’t care about you. I don’t want you to be alone. God knows we’ve both lost too many people.”

“Di, you’ve never left me. You’ve stuck by me, even when I didn’t deserve it. You’ve been a better friend than I ever imagined I would ever have.” She blinked hard. “I...I…”

Dinah waited.

“I...love you too.”

“There you go,” Dinah said softly. The hurt in her face eased. “You’re so much to me, Babs. You should give yourself more credit for what you do for me.”

“It’s not a damn compliment competition.” Barbara wiped at her eyes while her best friend chuckled softly. “But seriously...we both came out of pretty rough places in our lives when we found each other. I guess...I guess we needed each other. Still do.”

Dinah squeezed her hand. 

“You’re right. Of course you’re right, all-knowing Oracle.” Her voice was warm. “I think we’re always gonna need each other.”

Everything else fell away. Until it was just them, sitting there in the coffee-scented warmth, rain gathering outside the windows, hands interlocked. 

Just them. The two best friends. 

 

* * *

 

Barbara wiped her eyes. It took a minute, a while for the tears to finally stop. She took a deep breath, then another. Slowly, she squared her shoulders, sitting up to look right into Dinah’s face.

She hated the words that left her lips.

“I have to face them, don’t I? I have to face them all, tell them everything. Figure out what’s best together. With the whole truth out.”

Dinah nodded.

“That sounds right.”

Barbara groaned, loud and long, making her friend actually chuckle.

“God, you have no idea how much I _don’t_ want to do that.”

“I can imagine.” Dinah smirked faintly. “It ain’t just a Bat thing. It’s a Gordon thing too.”

“Yeah. Historically, we are not good at dealing with feelings, or relationships, or love, _at_ _all._ ” She thought of her family, all of them, _along_ with her mother: her birth parents, the miserable timid woman and the unloving drunk; her father, foremost in love with his work; her brother, the uncaring murderer. 

But then she thought of the rest of her family, the rest of the picture. She thought of how her father had loved her unconditionally as long as they’d known each other. She thought of in-laws, every single one of them a mess of a human being, every single one of them big-hearted, trying so goddamn hard to be better after all those years, and finally succeeding. She thought of her girls, her friends, who’d lifted themselves from bad circumstances, bad habits, her team that now nothing could break apart. She thought of Sarah. Equally in love with her work. Strong, resourceful, brave, and deeply caring. She and Jim were the only ones who’d really understood each other. Who were equals. Who were best friends. Who, after all that time, had actually made it _work_. 

Sarah. Who had been in her life for thirteen years, who had been married to her father for nine, but who she had never been brave enough to call “Mom.”

“I don’t think you give some members of your family enough credit.”

She dipped her head, trying to breath slow. Her friend knelt down again, forcing Barbara to face her.

“Dinah...I...I…”

“Yeah?”

Her next breath was still shaky.

“Why did you stay with me?”

Dinah blinked.

“Any of you. Even after I messed up, even after I panicked, lied, lashed out, even after I pushed you away. I haven’t always been a good friend, a good daughter, a good partner, or a good leader, and you know that.” She forced herself to inhale. “I just want to know. Why did you do this? Why did you think I was worth it?”

Dinah was quiet for a minute, processing. 

Barbara became very aware of their surroundings. The shadowy warmth of her home, like a soft black blanket over her skin; the gentle _whoosh_ of the radiator that moved in time with Sin’s and the animals’ slow sleepy breathing; the flurry of snow outside her windows, patterning against the giant clock face. Aware of her friend’s face, the makeup making her black lashes blacker and her pink lips redder, pale foundation caking slightly around the lines framing her eyes, the arched dark eyebrows, the unreadable emotion etched into her features, the golden hair that defied her age tumbling around her shoulders. A face that, even without her perfect memory, she was incapable of forgetting.

“Would you believe me if I told you it was because I love you?” Dinah answered at last. “Because _we_ — all of us — love you?  Because, Babs, you do have your bad points, I won’t lie to you...but the good outweighs it.”

Barbara tried to bow her head again, but Dinah cupped her face in her hands, keeping their eyes locked. 

“I don’t have to tell you that you’re strong, brave, clever, intelligent, a born fighter and survivor, because you already know that. You’ve always known that, even in your worst times. So I’ll tell you this.”

Barbara’s chest began to feel tight.

“You _care_ , so so much. You love your city, your families, your friends, all of us. You helped people who needed it, over and over again. You’ve saved millions of lives, directly and indirectly. You gave love and gave purpose to the most screwed-up people in the world, especially those screwed-up girls and us screwed-up women, when we most desperately needed it.” She paused. “You were always a hero, Barbara. The best kind of hero. Because you became Batgirl and Oracle because you don’t know how to sit back idly, how _not_ to help, how _not_ to care for and protect everyone else. Not to avenge someone dead — but to fight for people still alive. And you _succeeded_. You gave yourself, your care and your love and your protection, to us. In a lot of ways, you saved us.”

Her eyes felt hot, felt like they were brimming with tears again.

“And you did all _that_ , while you were scared of love, scared of being rejected, of turning selfish, of hurting us? Don't you understand that that just _proves_ how good you are?” Dinah shook her head. “God. Yeah, you fucked up, yeah you didn’t always know how to show it, but you still _love_ us. Despite your being scared, you still love us. You’ve still tried to help us, to do right by us, over and over and over again. Sometimes you bailed. Sometimes you ran. But Barbara, you _came back_.” Her fingers caressed over Barbara’s cheeks, into her hair. “You came back to the people you know need you. And now...I don’t think it’s wrong of me to say that you’re here to stay.”

The tears burst out in full force again, but they didn’t feel like hurt this time. They didn’t feel like the reopening of a wound. They felt like her chest was filling up to the brim, past containment, the emotions flowing free. The tears felt like catharsis instead.

“Dinah…I...I love you.”

“I know.” Her friend blinked slowly. “I always knew. You’ve got a big heart, and you can never fool anyone who cares about you into thinking otherwise.”

She took Dinah’s face in her own hands and pulled her close, making her best friend’s eyes go wide, then well up with tears of her own. As they moved closer, the two women’s foreheads touched...and for a long time, maybe seconds, maybe minutes, they stayed like that. 

Both of them lost in the moment. 

Crying together. 

Completely overwhelmed by their love.

It wasn’t until they finally pulled away that Barbara heard the balcony door turning, clicking open, and she wheeled around to see.

 

* * *

 

_Nine Years Ago_

 

It was truly unbelievable to her that she had a friend again in Black Canary. Moreover, it was truly unbelievable to her that the only other friend of hers that had survived her shooting, survived the biggest, most traumatic change of her adult years, hadn’t just stuck by her, but had _fallen in love_ with her. 

How could he have possibly fallen in love with her? She had barely felt lovable _before_ the shooting. 

Granted, he hadn’t actually said those three words to her. But she knew. She knew him too well, knew what his heart was like.

Gotham City was still mostly in ruins outside her window, in light of the earthquake, with people still trying to flee en masse or gather what supplies were left while gangs were stalking the streets and what was left of the GCPD either reveled in the violence or tried desperately to keep some semblance of order. The turmoil outside seemed to echo what was going on in her mind as Dick, in his new Nightwing uniform and all, milled around her living space.

“You didn’t have to come here in person, you know,” she told him. “I know it’s a bit of a mess outside —”

Several blocks away, a stories-high plume of smoke started rising. 

“But you don’t have to worry about me, really.”

“What, you assume I _wasn’t_ here to bounce thoughts on the case off you?” 

He flopped down on her couch, stretching like a cat. Though  eyes wandered of their own accord to his extended body, muscles stretching and flexing underneath the tight uniform. She swallowed hard, tugging at the collar of her shirt. 

“It’s not that I don’t think you can take care of yourself, Babs, honest. You have _more_ than proved that.” He took off his mask, blinking up at her guilelessly. “It’s just…” 

“Yeah?”

“I’ve missed you.”

An odd, warm fluttering feeling arose in her chest. 

“You talk to me every day.”

Dick smiled at her playfully, and the fluttering swiftened, until it was as fast as hummingbird wings.

“Please tell me you know that’s not the same thing.”

“Oh, I do.” 

She rolled over to him — the process of moving in her chair was starting to feel so natural now — and propped a pillow behind his head, tugging the blanket draped over the couch down over him. 

“Ah, Babs —”

“Don’t you ‘ah, Babs’ me. I know you don’t rest enough when you’re over in Bludhaven.”

She reached for the remote control, and his own hand shot out, catching her wrist. Her breath caught.

“Hypocrite,” he teased her lightly. “Like _you_ ever stop working.” 

“My version of work doesn’t involve running over every rooftop and jumping in front of assassins’ knives,” she smirked at him. “Nice try, Boy Genius.”

He tilted his head, pretending to be sad at his defeat, making her smirk grow. 

Then she became very, very aware that he was still holding her wrist; the feeling of his hand on the delicate skin, though she’d felt his hands countless times over the last few years, for some reason _now_ it made her skin grow warm. 

Her heart kept beating fast; she cleared her throat and pulled her hand away.

“Anyway, you stay right there and rest. I’ll go make dinner.”

“Barbara,” he called after her as she wheeled away again, “I really _am_ fine. I just wanted to see you.”

The heat flushed further over her skin. Her heart thundered.

“That may be, but you’re still staying right there, buddy.”

Behind her, he just chuckled softly.

When she came back an hour and a half later, having finished cooking, she was pleased to see that he had drifted off into a nap. His long lashes fluttered a little bit as he slept, and his long hair had flopped over his eyes in a frankly adorable way. She studied him for a moment, marveling at how he’d changed since she’d met him, how his elegant cheekbones and sharp jaw had lost all their baby fat, how he was taller now, had grown into his ears, his feet, his hands. He was lean and strong and lithe, and _why_ was she thinking this about her friend?

Dick made a faint snuffling noise in his sleep, tilting his head into his pillow, and her chest squeezed.

“Hey. Wake up.” She shook him by the shoulder. “C’mon, Rip Van Winkle. Dinner’s ready.”

He groaned faintly, lifting his head. When their eyes met, she was struck by how pretty they were. The thick black lashes, the arched eyebrows, those irises that was so vividly blue.

“The only thing that could always rouse me, even from the dead, would have to be your cooking,” he yawned. He threw back the blanket, getting to his feet and stumbling off to the kitchen before she could do anything; she could see even from where she was sitting that he was fixing two plates. 

Smiling to herself, she took up the remote and turned it to the channel she knew a show he liked was on, then picked the book she’d been reading off the coffee table and clambered onto the couch. 

When he rejoined her, they ate their dinner for a while in quiet, him captivated by his show, her by her book. He was so warm, she noted, he radiated heat even in the cold fall weather, and she unconsciously moved a little closer.

“You eat like a starving wolf,” she murmured.

“Told you, it’s your cooking. It makes a nice change from cereal and leftovers from the bar.”

“Okay, I know for a fact you can cook too.”

“Yeah, but I don’t really have time to.” He inhaled the rest of his food, then looked over at her. “God, thank you.”

“Anytime. You know I’m here for you.”

“Yeah. Yeah I do know.”

Dick set his plate down on the coffee table, then sighed softly, leaning into her side. For a moment, Barbara completely froze, her eyes going wide, her cheeks growing hot again.

“What are you reading?”

“Oh, I — I —” She desperately tried to sound normal, clearing her throat. She held up the cover. “It’s a new translation of Euripides. I’m reading _Medea_.”

“Huh.” He looked up at her, arching an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

She couldn’t help but laugh a bit.

“Not unless you plan on marrying me, then divorcing me for a Corinthian princess.”

“I can promise you right now,” Dick grinned, holding up his hands in surrender, “that I am not going to divorce you for any Corinthian princesses.”

“Ah, then you have nothing to worry about.” She wondered if he realized that he _hadn’t_ said that he wouldn’t marry her, then pushed that thought away at once. “But seriously, it’s a very good translation. The meter makes it flow very well, and I think they really captured the spirit of the original Greek.”

Dick smiled at her.

“What?”

“I love how much you care about this stuff, and how smart you are.”

Barbara blushed scarlet, pulling her book up over her face so he couldn’t see it. 

“Ah, you’re just saying that ‘cause I gotta save your ass on a regular basis.”

“And you’re very good at it.” He sighed softly. “Though you do have to do it a lot.”

Barbara lowered her book.

“What are you saying? Do you think you’re bothering me?”

His smile faded; he shifted a bit in place.

“Well, I mean...you’re busy. You have a lot of people to protect, to look out for. And I’m just one person. I don’t know if I’m —”

Her finger pressed over his lips, silencing him. 

“Don’t say you’re not worth it. Never say that to me, Dick Grayson.”

He made eye contact with her. For a few moments, they remained like that, eyes locked, so close that the sides of their bodies were pressing into each other. There was something in his expression that she hadn’t seen in years, not since he was fifteen, something like deep awe and appreciation, like soft affection, and like something else too. Something that she didn't...couldn't...

His face was soft with emotion, the exact same way that she felt for him right then, that she...

Oh.

_Oh._

Oh no. Oh fuck. Oh shit.

Barbara’s heart thundered. She could only wonder what was in _her_ expression.

He took her by the wrist again, gently taking her hand from his mouth.

“Thanks, Babs.”

The warmth in his voice made equal heat bloom in her chest and face again. 

For another moment, they just stared at each other.

Then they both cleared their throats as she pulled her wrist away, both of them shuffling to the far ends of the couch, studiously trying not to look at each other anymore. She played with a red lock of hair, certain that her face must be equally red.

“I just want to look out for your dumb ass, that’s all,” she said softly. “You may want to save Bludhaven, but I won’t have you die trying.”

“You’re not gonna lose me.” Though she wasn’t looking at him, she heard that his voice was equally soft. “But I’m serious, thank you. I lo — I _appreciate_ what you do for me.”

 _Do for him? What could I possibly_ do _for him?_

But there was something in the way he said it that made it impossible to argue. 

So she didn’t leave. She sat on the couch until he drifted off again, watching to make sure no nightmares disturbed his sleep. Making sure he was alright. 

Unable to control the turmoil of emotions in her heart.  

 

* * *

 

_Six-and-a-Half Years Ago_

 

After Bruce’s funeral, she went home. 

Her father opened the door to see her there, tears streaming down her face. He didn’t ask her what had happened, just let her in, went straight to the kitchen to put the coffee on. Soon the house filled with the comforting scent, and Jim went back over to his daughter, putting his hand on her shoulder.

At once, Barbara buried her face in her arms, crying, sobbing, feeling like her heart was splitting open. 

Bruce. Oh God, Bruce. Her mentor. Her friend. Like a second father. So rough and grouchy, sometimes she’d hated him for lying, for being harsh or manipulative, for not telling Cass and the boys that he loved them, for being nasty to Steph, she’d told him off more times than she could count, and right then she’d give _anything_ for him to be back. 

“Babs…” Jim rubbed his hand over her shoulder. “Baby...little girl…”

She grabbed hold of her father, burying her face in his shirt like she really was still a little girl. His hand stroked over her hair, and she realized that she wouldn’t be able to tell her father why she was crying, mourn him together. That Jim wasn’t supposed to know their identities. As far as he would know, his friend would’ve just been _gone_ , gone without a chance to say goodbye. 

She cried harder. Harder than her father had seen in years.

“Honey, it’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay. I’m...I’m here.”

Eventually, she stopped. Lifting her head, wiping her eyes on her shirtsleeve.

“Do you...want to talk?”

“No.”

Her father nodded, though he didn’t look happy about it. He just rubbed her shoulder one more time, then went back in the kitchen to get the coffee. 

Barbara sat in the living room, staring at the tops of her ballet flats, slotted so neatly into the footrests of her chair. Turning her rough hands over each other. 

The entire Justice League, the entire community, the entire city, were shaken to their core. She’d never, in all her years, seen Clark or Diana so grief-stricken. Their rogues gallery so confused and lost without Batman to oppose. The original Leaguers without their friend, the GCPD without their main means of catching dangerous criminals, Gotham without its main protector, so many teams without a member or leader, hell, even the Green Lanterns were upset, sorrowful. 

What was more, her family — _their_ family — wasn’t ready for this. To live without him. Even Jason, who pretended he hated him now. Even Damian, who had barely gotten the chance to meet him. And Tim...Cass...Dick...this was going to wreck them. This was going to rip the Bats apart. She didn’t need to be a real oracle to see that. 

Barbara squeezed her eyes shut, feeling tears prick at them again. 

“Honey?”

When she opened them again, it wasn’t her father but Sarah standing before her, still with her badge attached to her lapel.

“Oh, Barbara. Talk to me.”

“I can’t.”

“Barbara.” Sarah’s voice was firm; she reached out and cupped her stepdaughter’s cheek. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”

The two women stared each other down, jaws set stubbornly, green eyes locked on black. When Jim returned with the coffee, he took one look and wisely decided not to say anything. 

Eventually, Barbara sighed.

“I lost...I lost someone I...knew.”

“Sweetheart,” Jim breathed while Sarah knelt down, wrapping her arms around her stepdaughter. Barbara struggled not to cry again. “Who was it? Your girlfriend? Your boyfriend? Not that Ted Kord fellow? He was odd, sure, and definitely not funny, but I didn’t want him to _die_.”

She choked out a strangled laugh.

“Dinah’s not my girlfriend, Dad. And Dick’s not my boyfriend anymore. And no, it wasn’t any of them, it was...a friend.”

Jim handed her the coffee; she was able to pause her tears while she drank, Sarah moving slightly until she was positioned just outside the wheelchair, her arms still around Barbara’s shoulders. 

“I mean, he was kind of an asshole sometimes,” she choked, “but I still...kinda loved him and everything. He was...he was a jerk to me at first, but then he was good to me. He did so much for me. For...so many people.” 

She wiped at her eyes again. 

“And I can’t be like this right now. I have things to do, people to take care of, and here I am at my parents’ house, blubbering. He wouldn’t want me to be like this.”

Jim started to say something, maybe even to agree with her, but Sarah cut them both off. 

“That’s ridiculous,” she said sharply. “If your friend knew a thing about grief, he should know that you can’t compartmentalize it.”

“Dunno about that. That always seemed to work pretty well for him.”

Jim dipped his head slightly. His wife continued:

“Babs, honey, you gotta _feel_ this. You can’t just push your feelings down or away. Trust me. That never works.”

Barbara laughed bitterly.

“Yeah, but when has letting myself _feel_ things done me any good, anyway?”

She sipped her coffee, almost missing the look her father and stepmother exchanged. 

“Babs…” her father started to say. “Babs, we…” He cleared his throat, not looking like he knew what to say. “We love you, Babs. We’re here for you, no matter what you wanna do.”

She almost choked on her coffee, screwing her eyes up tight, eyelids burning. 

Sarah ran a hand over her hair.

“We’re sorry this happened to you, honey. But we’re here. You’re our d — _Jim’s_ daughter. My stepdaughter.” Sarah’s touch was firm, keeping her grounded, keeping her here and now. “And we’re here for you. We’re not going anywhere.”

“It’s not that simple.” She rested her cheek on Sarah’s arm. “You can’t just tell me you’re not gonna go anywhere. It doesn’t work that way. People die. People leave.”

“Barbara.” Her father knelt down too. It was awkward, he _really_ wasn’t a natural at this, but nonetheless: “I know we all have dangerous jobs —”

_No kidding, Dad._

“— but we don’t _want_ to leave you. So we’re gonna fight every day to come home, okay?” He squeezed her shoulder again. “And maybe it’s the best we can do. Maybe we won’t make it. But my God, Barbara, we love you. And we never, ever would _deliberately_ leave you. I’m sure your friend wanted to come home to you too.”

She shut her eyes again. There was no way she could let the family, the kids see her like this. Never. They needed her to be strong, to be the one they relied on. 

But her father...who had seen her at every high and low in her life...even though she had lied to him for so long, he was still _her father_. 

And Sarah...Sarah was there, she loved them, she had not left her.

So she sat in the living room of her childhood house with them. She sat there, in the arms of her father and stepmother, and just for that moment, she trusted them enough to let herself cry. 

 

* * *

 

She had been right about him going on patrol, for when her husband stepped into the room, bringing with him a gust of snowy winter air, he was dressed as Nightwing just as Dinah was dressed as Black Canary. 

Dinah, who got to her feet in surprise. Dick looked equally shocked, his expression temporarily going slack under the mask. 

Then he inhaled quickly, shoulders tensing, looking squarely at his wife.

“Where were you?” he exclaimed, voice rippling with anger and lingering fear. “You’ve been gone _all night_ , you didn’t call me, didn’t text me, all I get is some vague message from Bruce that you gave him our kids, you really scared me Barbara, and I don’t...”

He faltered as he saw her expression. Saw that she had clearly been crying. 

“Hey.” When he spoke again, his tone was considerably softer. “What is it? What happened?”

He looked at Dinah, who shrugged at him like _Not my story to tell._

Then he walked over to his wife, his expression filling with concern as he knelt down to her level. 

“Barbara, what is it? Please tell me.”

For a moment, she said nothing, just reaching up and removing his mask, looking right into those eyes she knew so well. 

Then she threw her arms over his shoulders, clutching and pulling him close. He made a soft noise, bending further to hold her close too.

“What happened?” she sniffled. “I specifically told Bruce _not_ to be vague in his message. That’s what happened.”

They pulled a little apart, face to face again. 

“God…” She wiped under her eyes. “Why does no one ever listen to me?”

Behind them, Dinah laughed softly.

“ _And_ she’s back.”

She knelt down alongside the couple, maneuvering around the wheelchair to throw her arms around the two of them. 

“Babs, you scared me,” Dick said quietly. She felt his hands rub gently along her back. “But are you okay?”

“No,” she said truthfully. Dinah sighed. “But you guys are here, and I...I will be.”

Her husband lifted one hand from her back to rest it against her cheek. She tilted her head slightly into his touch, savoring his presence, moving one of her own hands to rest on top of Dinah’s.

“You’re going to have to start from the top,” Dinah said helpfully. Then her voice became kind. “Go ahead, honey. Tell him everything.”

Still wrapped up in their arms, some of the weight drifted from Barbara’s shoulders. 

“Alright. Dick, here’s what happened after I left home this morning…”

Just a little away, the teenage girl and the pets curled against her kept dreaming peacefully. The snow kept falling through the shadows, and the winter night drifted on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case any of you were wondering while I was gone, no, I have NOT given up on this fic! I do fully intend to finish it, and I swear I'll try to be better about updating it from now on.


End file.
